


A Ship Without a Mate Sinks

by sarcasmandirony



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Space, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Breathplay, Canon Typical Violence, D/s undertones, Drama, Dubious Consent, Fantasy, Historical and Future Elements, Hostage!Stiles, Light Bondage, M/M, Mention of Collars, Mention of Slaves, Mild Pain Kink, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Multiple, Pirate!Derek, Porn With Plot, Ratchet & Clank References, Rimming, Science Fiction, Sexual Persuasion, Spanking, Treasure Hunting, Treasure Quest, Unsafe Sex, non negotiated kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:22:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasmandirony/pseuds/sarcasmandirony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles persuades Scott into checking out the old ship anchored by the docks, of which Derek is captain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is a distinct lack of pirate fics in this fandom, so I've decided to take matters into my own hands. And, hey, now you'll have bad fic to read! The dubious consent is due to: 1) underage, 2) hierarchy and 3) hostage. 

Stiles sets aside the ragged cloth covering his lean frame, getting up from the mattress made of straw he lies in every night. On his way to the window, or better yet, the hole in his room to let in light and cold and rain, he walks by a state of the art console, the latest high tech model of its brand. They might not have electricity, but batteries are more worthless then the leaves he swipes his ass with and Danny sure knows how to pick gadgets apart. Better, he does it for free.

Landing amidst a cloud of dust, Stiles coughs a bit of dirt that somehow got into his mouth and peeks over the living room window, candle flickering over the nightly wind coming through, his dad asleep at an old oak desk, tablet forgotten by his side, head laying on his arm.

 Sighing, Stiles steps in and picks up a worn out mantle, setting it over his shoulders.

“Goodnight, dad.” He whispers, careful not wake his old man up.

Getting back into the pitch black night, no stars sprinkling the cloud covered sky, he sets on a familiar course leading him to Sector B of Beacon’s Factory Housing, impossible to miss thanks to the blinding W of Whittemore Enterprises.

And yet, all that gold makes their son no less of an asshole.

Stiles counts three rows and then fifty seven houses, going near a familiar window.  

“Scott!” Stiles calls and an orange glow quickly comes to life in the second story, casting shadows over the nightly air.

Scott soon makes his appearance, bare-chested and holding an oil lamp.

“Stiles, you’ll wake up my mom.” Scott complains in a hushed whisper, rubbing the sleep away from one eye. “What do you want? You know I have to wake up early tomorrow.”

Scott, Stiles’ best friend, has been working on the Whittemore Enterprises factories a couple of years now. Stiles still misses him while at school, especially since the place is swarmed with jerks and girls highly above his league. Higher education comes with his dad’s job. Unluckily, gold doesn’t come with the pseudo status his dad’s occupation as sheriff concedes them or his mom’s fate might’ve been a different one.

Instead, she was taken from them too early by a common flu.

Stiles also misses Scott while on his spare time. Playing video games and eating junk food stuck in his room for eight hours straight just isn’t as fun when you do it alone. Actually, it is rather depressing.

 “I can’t believe you haven’t heard the chatter about the ship anchored in the docks.” Stiles tells him. Factory workers are the worst gossipers, which offered Scott and Stiles something to laugh about.

When they were not the beholders of said gossip, that is. Ah, the perks of living in a town of factory workers.

“Ships anchor in the docks all the time.” Scott deadpans.

“With masts, sails and made out of freaking actual wood?” Stiles asks, tone rising as his enthusiasm grows.

“Really?” Scott asks with a glint of excitement in his eyes, vanishing when he quickly collects himself and cleans his throat. “I have to wake up early tomorrow.”

“Scott, you know I’ll go with or without you. What if they are a band of kidnapping pirates that take me in as their hostage and serve me to the toxic ocean and whatever beasts that dwell in its depths on a silver platter? Pure silver, Scott, probably more valuable than the cheap gold our wealthy possess!” Stiles says.

“You really should work on your persuasion skills.” Scott tells him.

Stiles waves a hand dismissingly. “Why bother? You’ll come anyway.”

“Yeah, then we’ll be both served to the ocean.” Scott says, corrupted by Stiles’ sarcastic ways.

“Don’t forget the oil lamp.” Stiles reminds him when Scott is about to jump out of his window without it.

“Oh, right.” Scott remembers, looking at it by the window sill.

“Use the front door, Scott, unless you want the whole sector to ignite into flames. And remember to be careful not to wake up your mom.” Stiles advises.

Scott sends him a dirty look. “You’re bossy.” He accuses, but goes anyway.

The front door opens after a dragged out moment of Stiles licking his tongue over his dried out lips, grimacing at the taste of dirt that welcomes him again and tapping his foot on the ground, raising a cloud of dust into the air and into his nostrils.

“Now I have dirt in my mouth and in my nose.” Stiles complains.

“How is that my fault?” Scott asks, bewilderment taking over his innocent features.

“I’m not talking with you. I’m talking with our good old dusty marble.” Stiles says, stretching his arms as if reunited with a long lost friend and taking in a deep breath, appreciating the moment in its fullness, only to strongly cough afterwards. “Who is a bitch.”

Scott chuckles.

People living at the Factory Housing are pretty immune to the ways of the dusty lady. Actually, pretty everyone is.

Stiles’ mom, however, coming from a family of actual wealth living in the moon resort, came to earth on a trip, when its name was just that and life flourished everywhere, sun greeting the colorful world underneath, full of bright greens and beautiful melodies, like the chirping of crickets, the buzzing of bees or the rattling of wind through grass.

She fell in love with it and with a young John Stilinski and decided to stay while her family left.

And when earth became its name and all colors turned to brown, his mom kept a small garden by the side of their house filled with as many species as she could fit in their small patch of land, a miracle of life in an otherwise harsh and dry soil.

It was an expensive and hard maintenance pastime, but it kept a shine in her eyes uncommon in other adults in town, so his dad allowed that small privilege.

Stiles tried keeping it after she passed, but all flowers perished, petals falling one by one like mourning tears, as his memories of her delicate features and warm smile faded along with them, leaving a blur in its wake and the unfamiliar face captured in impersonal frames behind translucent cold glass to remind him of what he no longer knew, of whom he no longer had.

Old memories are set aside as masts and recoiled sails peek over a hill, lighted by the orange glow of oil fueled street lamps.

“Can’t you just feel an impending sense of adventure and discovery setting in? I can just picture us, Captains Stilinski and McCall, roaming the uncharted sees, fighting off evil pirates, finding long lost riches and conquering the unknown!” Stiles dreams.

“All seas are charted.” Scott informs, turning his fantasies to ash. “You spend hours in the library looking at them.”

“You are such a buzz kill. Where is your sense of wonder?” Stiles asks, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Let’s just approach it so I can return to my home and to my refreshing slumber.” Scott tells him, carrying on his march.

Sometimes Stiles doesn’t even know why they are friends.

Approaching the rich brown wood vessel they are greeted by a black wolf figurehead, jaws open threateningly wide and sharp long teeth built solely for ripping flesh apart. Stiles covers his nose from the putrid smells of the ocean and so does Scott, which says a lot, since factories aren’t known for their rosy scents.

Peeking over to the ship, Stiles notices a fugly looking creature sleeping while on watch duty, face shaped like a meteor, small purple clouds coming from a crater that forms his nose.

“I guess going in won’t be much of a problem.” Stiles smiles.

“Let’s hope coming out is just as easy.” Scott wishes.

Boarding the ship with light footsteps, Stiles quickly notices the intricate patterns carved on both masts and takes the oil lamp away from Scott’s hands.

“Hey!” Scott complains.

Stiles ignores him, approaching the mast, nose so close to the wood the smell reminds him of his mom’s garden after a rainfall. “These aren’t only patterns, these are pictures that form a tale. Like man used to draw on caverns in the old days.” He says, bringing the lamp closer to the mast so he can better decipher the scribing depictured. Stiles grazes his fingertips over a couple of wolves, seemingly preparing to battle a clan of armed men. “Oh my god, this ship belongs to the Hales!”

“And that is exciting because…”

“When man first found life outside of his little solar system, it was on a planet filled with creatures taken straight from mythology. Werewolves. Of course, man did the only thing he knew how to when faced with bright discovery and the rattling fear of the unknown during those times. He waged war.” Stiles tells, excitement running through his veins. “Dude, did you even pay attention during history lessons?” He asks, faced with Scott’s blank stare.

“No, and you wouldn’t either if the subject wasn’t distant planets or mythical space wars.” Scott accuses and Stiles smiles.

Scott knows him well.

Walking around the mast, Stiles sees a wolf perched by an arrow. “The Lycan lost… And man stole their riches.” Stiles says, reaching the third and final frame, setting course to the second mast in a fast pace.

“Stiles, we should hurry up, I think I hear people approaching.” Scott warns, nervously looking around.

“We’ll go in a minute.” Stiles assures him, inspecting the drawing of a wolf with its claws protecting a chest. “A Lycan was able to protect his riches… And he fled its planet on a ship.” He feels with his fingers the round shape of a planet, an old looking ship setting sail unto the deep, vast space.

“This is not a regular ship.” Scott finally concludes, fear to his tone.

“Nope.” Stiles confirms, mouth opening in a wide grin because this is the single most exciting event to ever happen in little Stiles Stilinski’s life. “We are on a freaking space ship!”

A coughing sound startles both boys.

Stiles turns away, the flame of the oil lamp casting light over a dude with thick long brows, one of which is arched in a question and an angular jaw seemingly cut from marble, his weight supported by a cutlass with a graceful curve and a deadly looking cutting edge. He’s wearing a flamboyant black hat with a crimson feather, a black velvet waistcoat with intricate patterns along with crimson puffed sleeves underneath a dark long sleeved jacket. Below the waist, underlined by a belt with a crimson buckle, a pair of black drawers over crimson stockings lead to a pair of black shoes with a golden buckle and crimson laces.

Next to him is an octopus like dude, followed by the meteor one.

Apparently this ship houses some kind of freak show.

“Finstock, it seems Greenberg let two seaweeds into my vessel.” The dude, which Stiles figures is the captain, says, pointing his sword at both Stiles and Scott.

“Greenberg!” Finstock shouts, slapping him in the back of the head, purple clouds being expelled from all craters on his face, only to tangle one of his tentacles around Greenberg’s throat and lift him into the air. “How should I punish him, my captain?”

“If his eyelashes are so heavy, perhaps the foul smells of the bathrooms might assist him in his ordeal.” The captain offers, after due consideration with a dry, yet mocking tone.

“Aye Aye, my captain!” Finstock yells and drags Greenberg along the deck and down a shaft.

“Now, what will I do with both of you?” He asks, barring their way with his sword as Stiles and Scott try to flee the ship unnoticed, almost disposing Stiles of his neck.

Stiles gulps. “We we were just keeping an eye on your vessel while you were away. It’s a very impressive looking ship, if I might say so myself. Very piraty. You might want to be careful with your help, you know? Beacon Hills isn’t the most secure of ports. Take it from me. But now you have returned and our services are no longer needed, so if you could just point your cutlass away from our vital organs for us to go, that would be peachy.”

“Maybe you could assist me.” He offers. “Proper help _is_ hard to come pass these days.”

“As I said, we were just leaving.” Stiles repeats.

“I don’t think so. Everything aboard the Mighty Wolf” he motions with his sword around the deck “is Captain Derek Hale’s possession. That’s me.” _Captain_ Derek says, smirking, like he’s enjoying himself so very damn much, the fucker.

“You actually refer to yourself in third person and call your ship ‘The Mighty Wolf’? Stiles asks, disbelieving. “You have got to be kidding me. Not even Jackson is that stuck up.”

Scott elbows him and mutters _Stiles!_ for some reason.

“I disrespectfully disagree.” Derek says, putting his sword back in its sheath, perhaps figuring both earthen boys won’t try to flee anymore.

Stiles can be impulsive and not really think about the consequences of his action, most of the time, but he can recognize an opportunity when it presents itself, so he grabs Scott by one arm and runs as fast as he can towards the docks.

But, before they have departed from the ship, a dark figure lands in front of them with a rough kind of grace – _Derek_ , flamboyant hat no longer in its place, features shifting into something more beast than man, his thick dark brows vanishing, ears turning pointy and hairy and his sideburns lengthening, allowing him for a quite ferocious outlook.

Long, sharp canines reveal themselves with a bark, looking able to cut through flesh with even as such as a gentle graze. His eyes glow a blood red, a reminder of what his fangs and claws are capable of, a token of his strength and power. A smirk tilts his lips up before Derek growls, the sound sending shivers down Stiles’ spine, equal parts arousing and terrifying.

Both boys step back instinctively, backs crashing into strong chests.

Turning back, Stiles is faced with three pirates – a guy with stern features and a dark complexion, a deep blue bandana protecting his eyes and wearing a short sleeved shirt with deep blue stripes and breeches of the same dark color, along with a dude of golden curls, wearing the same piraty outfit, only in canary yellow and there’s also a gal with a dangerous kind of beauty, hair in a ponytail and clothes a stark purple, striped shirt cut to show just a little bit of cleavage.

“You are not going anywhere.” Derek states, features returning to those of a common, yet extremely hot, men, leaving no trace of his beastly appearance behind.

“You can’t keep us here!” Scott shouts, panicky.

“Yeah! My dad is a sheriff. He _will_ contact space authorities and then he _will_ kick your little werewolf ass back to extinction!” Stiles threatens.

Derek takes a step forth, going for intimidating, and smirks when Stiles tries to take a step back, betrayed by his own body, only to realize there’s nowhere to run.

“He really set an example, it seems.” Derek notes.

“Fuck you!” Stiles mutters.

“Stiles!” Scott says in lieu of a warning and elbows him again.

“I have the perfect use in mind to give to that perfect mouth of yours, _Stiles_.” Derek sing songs his name, like it holds a secret.

Stiles dick twitches at Derek’s words and the images they awaken in him and, if possible, Derek’s smirk turns even cockier.

“Now, Erica make sure our guests are comfortable and secure for takeoff. There are bumpy seas ahead.”  Derek warns.

“We are prisoners!” Stiles states.

“Then make sure the ropes are tight around Stiles’ lean body. We don’t want him to slip under the ropes and fall off deck until the poisonous waters.” Derek says, grinning, and takes over the wheel.

Erica manhandles them towards the mast.

“You are so cute, making an effort to look into my eyes.” Erica taunts while tying a rope around him and Scott.

“You have beautiful eyes.” Stiles stutters.

“I have beautiful everything.” Erica states with a hint of danger to her smug grin that keeps Stiles from adding anything else. He has grown quite fond of his body parts and doesn’t want to part ways with them.

“Boyd, Isaac, it’s time to set sail.” He informs and the two pirates quickly get to work, Boyd recoiling the anchor with controlled precision, focused on the task at hand. Isaac, on the other hand, looks to be having the time of his life, cutting a knot and being carried by a rising piece of rope while a crimson sail drops into place, revealing a golden symbol – thee spirals joined by a triangle.

Isaac lands on deck with playful grace. “It’s all set, Captain.”

 “Then, ahoy we go.” Derek turns the wheel tipping the ship to the side and pressing a button hidden by a wooden veil that unlocks a control panel, bright colors erupting from the floor. “Take off motors, engage.” Water starts stirring around them in small yet constant waves, the ship starting to float into thin air. “Main motors, engage.” And with that, a burst takes them off of the small Beacon Hills port, the sudden motion shaking Stiles up. “Engaging shields and activating artificial atmosphere.”

Static bristles the hair of Stiles’ neck as he narrows his eyes to shield them from wind, dust and gassy clouds.

A red glow underlines the magnetic shield protecting the fragile wood vessel as they enter the earth’s atmosphere, friction rattling the majestic boat to its core that turns Stiles’ stomach upside down and makes him want to throw up, closing his eyes and trying not to think about how he could be squashed by pressure like a bug by a foot if anything went wrong.

Then, all of a sudden, the rustling stops and Stiles opens his eyes only to find himself in the middle of space, stars sprinkling the vast universe around them.

Looking back, Stiles sees a planet dimming in the distance, its surface hidden by pale brown clouds. In the old days, earth’s surface was painted with green and blue tones, white clouds casting shadows over its fields and oceans. People once called it the blue marble, alive in all its beauty. Today, its former glory is long gone, victim of the humans it gave life too all those millennium ago, its image nothing more than a shadow of days past, nothing more than an old dusty marble, forgotten by the ages.

Stiles, for all that he will miss his dad and forever hold dear the memories he shared with his family in its soil, feels a weight lifting from his back, like he was always meant for more than what earth’s four corners could ever dream to offer him.

Now, in a ship in where his future is uncertain and his potential, unlimited, there’s no telling what he’ll see or who he’ll meet, what wild adventures await him, what planets he will explore and how many dangers he will face.

His life, Stiles realizes, is only just beginning.

“Erica, Isaac, you can now take our guests to the living quarters.” Derek orders. “Boyd, you can follow me.”

Stiles tries to look to Scott over his shoulder, as the pirates free them. For all his excitement at this turn of events, he knows this is probably the last thing Scott wanted in the world. “I’m really sorry, buddy.” He says, honest in his words.

“I know.” Scott says with a feeble and sad smile, so uncharacteristic of him that tips Stiles unto making a decision.

Stiles will find a way to save him. 


	2. Chapter 2

Derek shrugs off his jacket and places it on the back of a chair. He takes off his shoes, untying the crimson laces and removing the crimson stockings, shedding off the rest of his clothing, but a black under shirt, carefully folding each piece.

Derek pulls a handle bathed in gold, opening a shelf and revealing a collection of clothes made only from the finest fabrics – velvet, silk, damask, sarcanet, camlet and taffeta – using upper class crimson, as well as silver and black shadings, where he stores his recently disposed clothes.

Opening a different drawer, Derek reveals a collection of simpler fabrics – canvass, leather, wool, linen, cotton and sheepskin – in the same rich colors.

Derek puts on a pair of crimson socks, a crimson doublet with black patterns and a pair of black leather breeches.

“My Captain, kidnapping two youngsters seems a bit imprudent.” Boyd says.

Leaving the bubble of privacy granted by the folding screen, Derek takes a seat behind his wide mahogany desk.

“Tales of escaping the Mighty Wolf unharmed would hinder our frail reestablished reputation.” Derek tells him. Besides, Stiles certainly looks like a fun addition to the crew.

“You’ve spoken truth.” Boyd assures. “Were you able to find that which you seek?”

“Indeed I was,” Derek informs, unfolding a chart he got from the Whittemore manor with just a little bit of persuasion.  “Though I fear my efforts to make sense of it are as fruitless as they were last time – just one more piece of a puzzle that doesn’t seem to come together.”

Boyd nods. “I mean no offense to your legacy, my Captain, but Peter Hale wasn’t exactly known for his sanity. You might consider that, perhaps, the charts are simply the ramblings of a mad man, leading nowhere and making heck of a sense.”

“Perhaps.” Derek sighs.

The thought has occurred to him several times before, a dark cloud hovering over his vessel.

“Ramblings of a mad man or not, we shall travel to the deepest ends of space in quest of my family’s treasure, of what is rightfully mine.” Derek states and Boyd, stoic as ever, nods his agreement.

Only he knows how deeply a fortune like Peter’s they need.

“Then I shall inform the rest of the crew of our destiny, my Captain.” Boyd tells him, waiting for Derek’s nod of dismissal before leaving the cabin.

Derek returns his attention to the charts displayed across his desk, staying awake even after his eyelids start to weight and a yawn creeps in on him, eyes burning as he tries to make sense of the clusters of stars and planets by the frail flame of an oil lamp. However, no matter how much he turns and stirs them around, the result is always the same – failure.

Maybe the final piece will be able to shed some light over the randomness.

At least, that’s what Derek prays to the Gods for.

Because if his fears come to pass, if the charts are nothing more than the insane ramblings of an old pirate, then he and his crew are doomed. Again.

The Hales, once a family able to rattle the bones of its enemies with solely its name found its undoing in a treaty made with the corrupt Argent Force, which allowed them to freely roam space, robbing and looting small and huge vessels alike. Though, when their presence in the skies became too notorious and intimidating, the Intergalactic most influential beings forced them to take action.

Using their ties to the Hales, they planted a device deep within the heart of Mighty Wolf, a fire making Derek their sole survivor.

 Sounds coming from outside the Captain’s cabin pull him from his thoughts.

Derek can’t believe it’s morning already, yet another night wasted in blank, between dots on aged paper and memories of times past.

His body hurts when he stands up, an ache from spending the entire night in only one position.

After taking a relieving piss and refreshing himself with a splash of water, Derek exits his cabin, greeted by a working crew, busy swabbing the deck and polishing the woods, the sounds of bolts being tightened, weights being carried and heavy machinery being calibrated echoing from beneath him.

A familiar melody he grew up with.

“McCall, you call this swabbing the deck? My grandmother swabs better than this, and she’s dead!” Finstock yells, yammering Scott’s ears off.

Derek spots Stiles, mop washing away the dirt with stumbled yet efficient strokes.

“How is my humble ship treating you?” He asks, approaching.

“Really fucking well. Between the shouting we were greeted with in the morning and the crappy food, my complaints are many.” Stiles says, sarcastically, sparing him a look over the shoulder that lingers on Derek’s frame, the spicy scent of arousal tickling his nose.

“Like what you see?” Derek smirks.

A frail shade of pink washes over Stiles’ cheeks. “If what shows is all you have, then the Gods were particularly unkind with you, which should come to no surprise, given your asshole personality and pitiful ship.”

Derek steps closer, noticing the small faded smudge of lipstick in Stiles’ jaw, which means Erica already performed her celebratory hazing. Stiles steps back at Derek’s sudden motion, which makes Derek’s smirk wider and Stiles’ eyes narrow.

“I see making noise is an activity you rather enjoy, so I’ll do yourself a favor. I hope you fancy a sour throat.” Derek tells him and Stiles gulps, arousal flooding Derek’s nostrils.

He wonders if Stiles knows how keen Lycan senses are.

“Mates, your mighty Captain –”

“You really love hearing your title out loud, don’t you?” Stiles asks.

 “Has have great news for you all. Our guest, –”

“Hostage!” Stiles interrupts.

“ _Stiles_ has offered to brighten our mood by singing us a jolly tune.” Derek reveals.

“What?” Stiles shouts, disbelieving.

“Or you chant, or I’ll make you cross the board. I hope you don’t mind not breathing.” Derek tells him.

“Bummer, that’s kind of crucial to my surviving.” Stiles says, dryly.

And when he opens his mouth, giving in, Derek instantly regrets his decision.

He also may or may not find refuge in his cabin. Of course, the wood walls of his quarters do little to atone the acute wailing crackling through. Lycan abilities, both a blessing and a curse, be damned.

 

* * *

 

“My escape pod had just fallen in the harsh and hostile surface of Aridia. I, alone and with no one else to turn to, found myself cornered by a Nine-Eyed Tyhrranoid, the deadliest of its kind, huge in size and with hundreds of lethal sharp teeth.” Derek picks a fork and waves it around the awed expressions of his crew mates, trying his best to keep a suspense heavy atmosphere. “After many hours of battle, my space suit shredded to pieces and my skin a thick layer of red, I was finally able to defeat such a thunderous beast. Of one thing is sure, none of its nine eyes will ever see the glorious sunlight again!” He says, raising a rum filled mug to join that of the others, among cheers and hoorays.

“Tyhrranoids are pretty dumb creatures.” Stiles says.

“How would you know, boy? You have never set foot on another planet but that old rock before.” Derek says, sneering.

“I might not be as well traveled as you, but we have books in that old rock. Tyhrranoids are easily blinded by a scrap of sand and feel ticklish under their feet. Of course you would choose to make a spectacle to brag about to a bunch of… charming pirates.” Stiles emends, knowing better than to insult a crew of armed men.

“I’ll remember to pick a book next time my behind is facing certain death.” Derek assures him, the crewman laughing. “Or perhaps I will be better off having you. Even if you don’t hold the answer to defeating my foe, you can always talk him to death.”

“It’d be a pleasure.” Stiles offers with a sarcastic smile.

“If you think yourself so smart, maybe you would fare well behind a wheel.” Derek says. “Finstock says your thirst for knowledge knows no bounds, so maybe some practical experience would be equally beneficial.”

“I bet he meant that as anything but a compliment.”

“He also says you swab the deck like no other and deal with machinery like fish fancy water. Perhaps a small reward is in other. And if you end up doing a fool out of yourself, we will at least get a good laugh.”

“Deal.” Stiles says, with a wondrous shine to his eyes and a unshaken certitude to his tone.

“Captain, are you sure this is wise?” Boyd asks as Stiles hurries in front of them, lost in a heated argument with Scott.

“Trust me, Boyd, I know what I’m doing. Let the boy have some fun, and if he screws up, we will be the ones to have a jolly time.” Derek reassures.

“Or perhaps we will crash on a planet. I hear Jupiter is nearby. And it’s not exactly known for a welcoming weather.”

“I’ll be behind the boy, guiding him. There won’t be any problems.”

No matter his words, Boyd’s look remains uncertain.

“Don’t fret, Boyd. They’re just measuring their instruments. Boys can be so predictable.” Erica taunts with a devilish grin.

“I think they’re also checking out each other’s instruments.” Isaac adds in.

“Perhaps we’ll do more than check each other out.” Derek smirks.

“And that is my cue.” Boyd grunts.

“Just when things are about to get interesting.” Erica complains with a condescending roll of her eyes, not putting much of a fight as Boyd drags her away.

“This means we can’t watch?” Isaac asks as he is dragged as well.

“I’ll send you a holo-film.” Derek says dryly.

Wandering upwards towards the deck, he finds Stiles gazing at a fairway planet, however close it might seem – Jupiter, gassy and stormful, its atmosphere creating an everpresent, watchful eye, staring back into deep space and any passing visitors. “It’s strange how a bit of gas and a speck of dust can mingle together to form something of such beauty.” Derek says, referring to its ring.

“Yeah.” Stiles agrees, looking over its shoulder with a feeble smile, before catching himself and shaking his head. “Shall we? I have a ship to pilot.”

“Can’t let the crew waiting.” Derek motions for the wheel, daring Stiles to approach it.

Stiles does, hands shakily laying on the handles at first, before his grip tightens, hold turning surer as Stiles breathes in a calming loaf of air. He twists the wheel with a quick motion a beginner’s mistake.

No member of the crew, unsubtly peeking over their shoulders, has any time to laugh, mock or tease, holding to nearby ropes or to the solid frame of neighboring masts while crates slide along the deck.

Derek quickly grips the handles, tipping the ship to balance with a turbulent shake.

“Ups.” Stiles winces.

“I would say you did that on purpose.”

“You would be wrong.” Stiles says, the slight blip in his heartbeat leaving no place for doubts.

“Well, then,” Says Derek “We should start by the beginning.” Prompting his body very closely behind Stiles’, so close he can feel the heat flowing from Stiles’ body, the way his blood pumps throughout his veins, his crotch grazing over the cup of Stiles’ ass through a tight pair of breeches and a loose pair of trousers. A dry gulp echoes in his ears. “The left side of the ship is called port, the right is starboard.” Derek says, fingernail elongating in a sharp claw and scratching each letter on rich wood.

“I knew that, thank you.” Stiles tells him, tone affronted yet shaky, nervous.

“Just taking precaution, after your earlier feat.” Derek whispers beside his ear, skin bristling under warm breath. He lays his hands over Stiles’ palms, calloused from mild manual labor, uneasy under the strong press of skin. “Relax.” He says, sure even Stiles can hear the smirk playing in his lips.

“If I didn’t know better, I would say you are doing this on purpose.” Stiles echoes Derek’s earlier words, his accusatory tone unmistakable.

“I guess I should tell you exactly how keen werewolf senses can be.” Derek reveals.

He doesn’t expect the jolt of pain that comes from Stiles’ elbow. “That one is because you’re a jerk.” Stiles bites off.

“I guess I deserved that.” Derek says with a tilt of his lip. “Now, keep a steady grip on the handle and feel it under your palm, really feel it, until you can trace the edges and the cracks in the wood, the roundness of its shape and the harshness of its surface. Know it as your own body, let it become an extension of your arm.”

Stiles fingers tap a little at the handle, nervously, outlining the curve of the wheel.

He nods. “Know it like the palm of my hand.”

“Good.” Derek states. “Now wander.”

Stiles tips the wheel just the slightest bit, taking them around the moons of Jupiter, through its icy landscapes, home of beasts with white fur and dangerous jaws and of birds that cannot fly, wearing ridiculous black and white suits staring up as they pass. Animals of earth saved from extinction in planets humans could not thrive in.

Derek can feel Stiles’ happiness in the way he can barely hold still or in how the up tilt turn of his lips wrinkles his features as he wonders freely through space and his emotion are contagious, drawing a smile on Derek’s mouth so wide it leaves his cheeks aching.

He’s almost sad when it has to come to an end. “Time to resume our course, I fear.”

“Oh?” Stiles asks, looking over his shoulder like he forgot exactly where he was. “Oh, right.” He nods and loosens the hold of its hands on the handles, Derek’s fingertips grazing over soft skin until they fall by his sides.

“We could continue this in my cabin.” Derek says in invitation.

“Lead the way.” Is Stiles’ answer.

Derek walks over to his cabin and Stiles follows, footsteps resonating through the deck below, a tile screeching under the weight of his foot, heartbeat thundering like a drum, faster and louder in his chest the closer as they approach his cabin. And then, when Derek opens the door, welcoming Stiles inside with an inviting wave of his arm, the symphony mellows.

Derek closes the door, watching as Stiles approaches the book filled racks, eyes flickering over the myriad of different subjects, from Astronomy to Zoology. He takes one, _The Encyclopedia of Species, Volume I_ , blowing the dust out of its cover and opening it in the middle, a musty scent caressing the air and welcoming an overeager pair of eyes for the first time since a while.

“We were in the middle of something.” Derek whispers in Stiles’ ear, approaching him from behind and taking the book out of Stiles’ grasp, setting it aside, hardcover falling on the golden, silver and crimson silk carpet with a small thud.

“I was reading –” Stiles’ complaint turns to a purr when Derek kisses him below the ear.

“And a pirate never leaves anything half uncovered.” Derek says, unlacing Stiles’ worn out and stained wool shirt, undressing the fabric under Stiles’ shoulders, fingertips grazing over Stiles’ skin. A pale canvas filled with freckles and moles, scented with dirt, smoke and a faded floral smell is uncovered as sleeves are tucked away from Stiles’ wrists, a tangled piece of wool meeting the floor.

Derek traces a finger over Stiles’ spine, who releases a shuddered sigh at the electrifying touch of skin, Derek scraping his lips across Stiles’ shoulders, his trousers falling with the gentle tug of a finger. Derek caresses the rim of Stiles’ hole with the knot of a finger, his back tensing at the slight graze.

“Is this your first?” Derek whispers, lips ghosting over Stiles’ neck.

“Yeah.” Stiles stutters, pink coloring his cheeks.

Derek wraps one arm around Stiles’ chest, half hard cock pressed along Stiles’ butt cheek behind black leather, hand wandering along Stiles’ thigh. “You really are mine.” He smirks.

“I am not some kind of possession.” Stiles argues.

“Everything aboard this ship belongs to me.” Derek states, tugging lightly at Stiles’ cock, who releases a half muffled moan.

“One of us is definitely wearing too much clothing and I, if you haven’t yet noticed, am completely naked, so that leaves your iron ass and marble chest” Stiles says. “And this conversation isn’t –”

Stiles’ words are lost between a second moan.

“It seems like it is.” Derek smirks. He has finally found a way to leave Stiles completely speechless yet, not completely silent. “Stay still.” Derek orders as he unbuttons his doublet.

“You are an asshole.” Stiles accuses, meaning every word, trying to look over his shoulder, fingers wiggling. “If I helped it would go faster.”

“If you move, I will tie both your legs and arms.” Derek threatens, smirking at the way Stiles’ heart skips the tinniest bit, at the way his cock twitches and hardens, untouched.

“Just you try.” Stiles tells him in a veiled dare.

And Derek has to contain himself from ripping the leather of his breeches right then and there, cock growing in length under his garments.  He takes calming breathes while folding clothing shed, neatly pilling it on top a chair while Stiles’ heart, each beat pounding with anticipation, calls to him like a siren’s chant.

 Derek follows its flow, turning Stiles around and crashing into him like a wave unto the beach, muting a yelp of surprise between his lips.

He almost doesn’t recognize himself in the mist of such desire, tracing Stiles’ sides under his palms, feeling strong muscles hidden by a lean frame under his fingertips.

Derek grabs Stiles by both thighs, Stiles’ legs wrapping around Derek’s waist, Stiles’ fingers tugging Derek’s hair tighter, lips locked as Derek carries him towards the bed, of ash and chestnut wood, bed frame highlighted by a silver inlay carved with intricate patterns, of which two triskelions stand out at both sides.

Derek shoves Stiles into the bed sheets, the finest silk welcoming his knees like a gentle caress. He looks down at his capture, laying at his mercy, legs slightly open, inviting, cock sprawling along his belly, a patch a hair leading up to his belly button. Derek palms Stiles’ stomach, abdominal muscles clenching under his touch, fingertips wandering up, teasing, while Derek’s eyes linger over pink, flushed lips and caramel expecting eyes.

“Show me how you touch yourself.” Derek whispers, hands stroking broad shoulders. Stiles’ hand goes to his cock, but Derek grabs it by the wrist, leading him through the patch of skin around his balls and unto the outskirts of his hole. “You have fingered yourself before, haven’t you?” Derek asks, a brow tilting up.

Stiles shakes his head, gulping.

Derek smirks. “Dip your fingers in the oil inside the dark brown bowl in the nightstand behind you.” He orders, sitting back on his knees.

“It’s sticky and shiny.” Stiles comments.

“It wasn’t made for gazing with mesmerizing eyes, but for better allowing penetration.”

“Thank you, in the mist of our current naked states, such thought had not occurred me.”

With that, Stiles presses an oil slicked finger inside his hole, just the tinniest bit, a dry sound escaping his mouth as he gets used to such a foreign sensation.

Derek lightly brushes a hand along Stiles’ thigh. “Keep going.”

With a deep intake of air, Stiles presses his finger further in, an initial moan giving way to a panting breath.

“Move it around.” Derek orders.

Stiles moves his finger, slightly at first, just the tinniest inch, but then he starts wiggling it around, eyelids closing as a soft purr rumbles through his belly, tingling the fingertips of Derek’s hand and making his own dick twitch.

Derek deciders to up the stakes, taking Stiles’ hand in his and dipping his fingers in the bowl once again, oil dripping from his hole and staining the bed sheets as Derek fucks him hard with his own finger, adding one and yet another, a single purr turning into moans, whines and breathless pants for air. Derek takes Stiles’ cock into his palm, tugging it with harsh and fast strokes.

Stiles’ neck and cheeks fluster a deep shade of red, the veins in his throat popping out. “I’m gonna cum.” Stiles tells him, both a plead and a warning.

When he does, spurts of cum splattering across a trail of hair and a broad chest, Derek grabs Stiles’ legs by his thighs, slightly tilting his ass up and shoves his cock inside, hard just from watching Stiles squirm and writhe beautifully under his own fingers, riding Stiles’ bliss with a punitive pace, punishing Stiles for the way he makes him feel, so raw, so alive and with such _wanting_ , Stiles whining and moaning even louder than before. 


	3. Chapter 3

“I thought you hated the food here.” Scott tells him with an expression of disgust while Stiles chews a big piece of ration open mouthed. “Like dry wall.”

“At least it has a flavor.” Stiles echoes words he has been lectured with by none other than Scott himself.

Scott only looks half done with his shit.

“Lazy scum!” Finstock yells. “We are approaching an asteroid belt so hurry your slothful bums up towards the main deck or an instant death will be the least of your problems!”

“An asteroid belt!” Stiles exclaims with excitement.

“I’m sorry, I’m in no way a space expert but the words ‘instant death’ don’t sound all that exciting. Actually, they sound very, very bad.” Scott says.

“An asteroid is a giant boulder which can reach a size bigger than this ship!” Stiles reveals.

“So, an asteroid belt…” Scott starts, expression scrunching in frightful anticipation.

“An whole bunch of giant boulders just waiting to hit and maim and destroy an unsuspecting ship, tearing it to tiny pieces of nothing more than space dust wandering around the universe in an eternal and fateless voyage. Finally something enticing and dangerous happens in this ship. It’s fantastic!” Stiles says, jumping out of his chair, grabbing an unenthusiastic Scott by the arm and dragging him unto the main deck.

“I hate your definition of fantastic.” Scott complains. “It always gets me into trouble.”

“Huh, Scott, I’ve told you a gazillion times there shouldn’t had been any patrolling guards in that quadrant of Hale Enterprises at that time. It’s not my fault they decided to update in a rather brilliant yet extremely inconvenient way their security measures.”

“I rest my case.”

Stiles looks down in his way up the stairs, not quite understanding. Scott makes shooing hand motions for him to keep going, someone down below complaining their hands are starting to slip from the wooden board, so Stiles resumes his climb.

Stepping out from the hatch and unto the main deck, Stiles is faced with an apocalyptic, yet mesmerizing vision. Gazing upon pictures of tiny rocks forming a few inches wide belt drawn in a paper sheet is so different than the heart pounding, adrenaline rushing and blood pumping inducing image he’s witnessing now, the ship cruising through the meteor belt with Finstock taking over the wheel, two of his arms controlling the vessel while his six remaining tentacles jump through the recently lit control panel.

A glimpse of an approaching meteor coming from board is all Stiles manages to see through the corner of his eye before the deck trembles, rocking Stiles to his feet as the giant boulder collides with the vessel’s ship in a beautiful explosion of red, kind of like fireworks.

It’s the first time Stiles witnesses something of the sort outside the little screen of the holovid and seriously, HD video games or blurry recordings of times past are shit compared to real life.

However, the impact throws the ship out of its course.

“Oh, butter nut!” Finstock complains. “Aye you overgrown seals, it’s time to set the sails!”

“I don’t understand.” Stiles says. “We have motors.”

“One of them is malfunctioning.” Scott reveals, pushing him to join their rustling mates, dividing into several groups to attend the different sails. “Me and a couple of other crewmembers are part of the repair crew, but it’s still going to take a few days to fix it, and only momentarily.”

“Bummer.” Stiles lets out, a smile forming.

“Only you would be happy with a malfunction that could hinder us in a time like this.” Scott shakes his head.

“Standing idly by while the reigns of our fate lie in someone else’s tentacles while we admire the asteroids passing by, it would be fine. Helping sailing the ship while our lives depend on it, our own destiny lying between the calluses of our own hands is even better!” Stiles states and Scott laughs.

“Only if we survive.”

The sail flaps down as they let out the main-sheet, pulling it and setting the sail into place, trying his hardest to keep a steady grip on the rope, friction making his hand burn. The deck rumbles below his feet as more meteors crash into the shield, crushed into tiny little particles along the starboard, some of the debris slithering through the shield and approaching the deck, growing of size as their distance lessens.

Apparently small debris at a distance are head sized ones real close.

Who knew?

And there goes a smaller mast.

“Oh, butter nut! Hurry up dawdling dugongs!” Finstock hustles. “Turn the sails to port sailors, I’m going to brew us some wind to take us away from these rocky skies!”

And magically, just like a wizard casting a spell, a breeze sets in, bristling the hair in Stiles’ arms, blowing the sails and taking the ship out of the hustle they had fallen into. “Now, to starboard!” Finstock orders and Stiles loosens his hold, turning his grip and pulling the sheet once again, the winds changing direction like it follows a maestro’s baton.

They sail around to Finstock’s whims until they finally reach the end of the asteroid belt.

“Straighten those sexy beauties!” He orders, disabling the control panel. “And Stilinski, the Captain needs a word with you.”

Stiles can guess what it is about. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Now!” Finstock orders.

It seems someone has a voracious appetite for Stiles’ sexy times. Well, can’t let the beast waiting. “I guess it’s time for my booty call.” He tells Scott with a grin, not really capable of letting go of the sheet.

“Greenberg will take care of that.” He informs.

 Stiles looks at Scott with wide eyes as Greenberg takes the rope from his hands. “People do things for me now.” He says. “I’m like Lydia, only minus the dashing looks, the witty brains, the strawberry hair and, you know, the lady parts. The main thing is – I’m important.” And he can’t stay quiet, feeling like he just won the lottery.

If they had a lottery.

Scott rolls his eyes, now _really_ done. “Be careful!”

 “Not going to happen!” Stiles waves, following Finstock with excitement. There are two words he never thought he would think together.

And don’t get him wrong. Derek Hale is still a snob, a jerk, has no matters and thinks he can get all he wants just because of his heritage. He’s also a fine piece of man cake and Stiles might’ve been, not so long ago, the owner of a very virgin ass, but Derek knows how to show a man a good time. Stiles is milking this until he finds a way out for Scott, it’s all he’s saying. There is no harm in taking benefit and a lot of pleasure from the situation at hand.

Nope, none at all.

Finstock opens the door to Derek’s cabin and Stiles enters in, finding Derek behind his wide mahogany desk, the luxurious cabin leaving him as dazzled as in the day before. It almost seems like he has landed in a fairy tale, only the prince is a brute and there will be lots of sex, it seemd. Not that Stiles is complaining.

Finstock closes the door behind him.

“Unclothe yourself.” Derek orders, lifting his eyes from the papers scattered along the desk, looking at Stiles with lust filled eyes, drowning with want and desire, Stiles feeling completely bare though he’s still fully dressed.

He gulps, slowly pulling his shirt and throwing it at the corner, trying to go for sexy. His efforts come to an halt, though when his trousers end up tangled between his ankles, Stiles falling ass first into the sumptuous silk carpet.

Derek snorts.

“Shut up!” Stiles tells him promptly.

Derek offers both hands in surrender. “My lips were sealed just until now. And those are not ways to address a captain.”

“Captain my ass.” Stiles retorts.

“When you undress yourself, perhaps.” Derek ponders with a quirk of his eyebrows and Stiles’ dick twitches at the promise held behind such common words.

“You do that on purpose.” Stiles accuses.

Derek smirks, both an admission of guilt and a statement that he doesn’t care in the less about such accusations. “Undress yourself.” He repeats, the words followed by a slow hand motion, telling him to hurry, leaning further in his chair as if to better enjoy the show unfolding in front of him.

Stiles untangles the trousers from between his ankles, standing back up and removes his undergarments, ass bare and cock exposed to the elements, as well as to Derek’s prying eyes, his gaze lingering between each inch of Stiles’ body, leaving his cheeks flushed beneath such  scrutiny.

It’s not like Stiles is anything other than ordinary, vulgar.

“Come here.” Derek orders with the aid of two fingers.

Stiles approaches him, fingers tingling to caress Derek’s neck, to feel the prickle of his stubble beneath his fingertips, to brush his fingers through thick air and lock his mouth between soft lips, licking one of his own lips at the thought.

Derek turns his chair a little to the side for better allowing Stiles to nuzzle himself between his open legs, grazing his lips between Derek’s, before Derek bites Stiles’ bottom lip, his hands wandering along Stiles’ thighs, fingers leaving a trail of heat behind them, cupping the cheeks of Stiles’ ass in his strong hands, the kiss deepening as teeth nibble and tongues tease, Stiles’ locking a strand of Derek’s hair between his fingers.

An oil slick finger starts teasing at Stiles hole, pushing the slightest inside and leaving a burn in its wake, pulling a dry sound from his throat.

Stiles grips Derek’s shoulders tighter, over the soft fabric of his doublet, the cold feeling of its buttons against his chest making Stiles’ skin bristle as Derek fingers his butthole, the burning still there, still hurting a bit, but the hurting isn’t the important now, but the waves of heat buzzing through his body, pulsing through him like lava underneath the earth’s crust, hardening his cock into a solid rock and clearing his mind of any thought, spine arching as silent moans die between his lips.

Derek nibbles at his exposed neck, a nibble that turns into a bite and forces out a moan out of his depths, Derek’s teeth slightly grazing along his neck and licking the outside of Stiles’ ear. “Unclothe me.” He asks, giving a slight slap to Stiles’ behind.

“I’m a bit busy right now.” Stiles says, groaning as Derek starts fucking him with just the finger.

“C’mon.” Derek urges, taking Stiles’ lips unto his, probably to stop him from talking and, well, it, works. But just because Stiles knows complaining any further will only lead to slight sexual frustration, and that is the worst kind.

He unbuttons Derek’s doublet, blindly, but between the warm contractions seizing through him, the swab of Derek’s tongue and the sharp graze of his teeth, Stiles is definitely not complaining.  

He removes Derek’s garment, a whine escaping his mouth as Derek removes his finger, lips parting as the doublet sheds off, taking off his black undershirt as well and exposing a layer of tanned skin that Stiles’ can’t help but to lick, the salty taste of sweat curling in his palate.

Two oil slick fingers enter him this time, pulling in and out faster than before.

“Unbutton my pants.” Derek orders, with a smirk on his lips, fingers going deeper into him and dragging a whine out of Stiles’ lips. 

“I hate you.” Stiles groans.

“Hurry up.” Derek tells him with a chaste press of lips, leaning back in his chair and leaving Stiles’ ass unattended, an action Stiles both welcomes, because the move of two fingers wakes in him a sensation quite distracting, and loathes, because _fuck_ , he has really warmed up to the feeling two fingers in his ass might bestow.

Stiles unbuckles Derek’s belt and unbuttons the breeches.

Derek tilts his crotch up, allowing for Stiles remove the garments and free his cock, taking it into his hand and giving a slight lick to its head, tentative. Please it isn’t too foul a taste, Stiles swipes his tongue around Derek’s head, right under the foreskin, Derek humming at the sensation, hand brushing through Stiles’ buzz cut, fingers caressing his jaw.

“That’s it.”  Derek commends. “Now, take it in your mouth.”

Stiles closes his mouth around its head, sucking in and out, closing a fist around the base of Derek’s cock and turning while he strokes, Derek apparently enjoying it as much as Stiles did –moans muffled between the old rags and the uncomfortable straw mattress of his home planet – purring while throwing back his head, lost in bliss.

Then, Derek pulls out, urging Stiles back to his feet. “Sit on my lap.” He orders, after smearing his cock with some oil and sitting straighter in the chair.

Stiles kneels on top the chair, lining his entrance with Derek’s cock and sitting down, Derek’s dick slowly entering him, opening him, his muscles contracting around the intrusion. When Stiles ass cheeks meet Derek’s thighs, he’s already breathless, panting for air.

“Now, fuck.” Derek tells him with a dirty and rough inflection of his tone.

“Excuse me, what about you?” Stiles asks. He has done plenty of work today while Derek partook in not so dangerous reading.

“Since you can rather well carry a conversation by your own, I thought you could well do all work by yourself. I won’t move a muscle.” Derek reveals.

Stiles narrows his eyes, slapping Derek’s chest in no way lightly. “You really are a jerk!”

“This might not be a free ship by any means, but the door is right there. You are welcome to –” Making use of Derek’s own tricks, Stiles rounds his waist to shut him up, a silent moan letting his mouth drop wide open and staying there, helplessly as he’s eyes close.

A smirk wakes in Derek’s lips, gone in less than a minute. “You learn quickly, Mister Stilinski.”

“Yeah, I do, but not thanks to my teacher. He was a terrible one. Actually, I even think he wasn’t a teacher at all, but a Captain. They really are the scourge of the sea.” Stiles taunts, but Derek doesn’t yield to his provocations, so Stiles rocks faster, chair rattling under their weight, a growl that settles in the air escaping Derek’s throat as a heat curls inside Stiles like an old friend, hardening his dick and reddening his skin.

“Fuck.” Derek mutters, sounding completely lost, Stiles movements enough to madden him, but not enough to give him release, Derek’s legs and waist twitching and squirming beneath Stiles and he knows he has won. “You are going to regret this.” Derek groans, whatever threat laying on his words lost by the high pitch of his tone.

“Doesn’t matter, I won.” Stiles gloats, a smile on his lips, licking the hair under Derek’s armpit, slick with sweat and so, so good.

Derek stretches his right arm while Stiles moves up along Derek’s left upper arm, leaving sloppy, wet kisses along Derek’s skin, catching the glimpse of movement of a flowing curtain by the corner of his eye.

“Arms. Up.” Derek orders, voice hoarse.

Stiles, rather cocky, obeys with a shitty eating grin as well with a sudden rock of his hips, Derek moaning and thrusting back involuntarily, a shaky and breathless breath rumbling out of Stiles’ mouth, drawing a lazy smile in his lips.

Stiles feels a soft fabric enlacing around his wrists, finding Derek tying them together with a rope of gold tones, matching the golden ascents of the crimson curtain framing a wide window sprinkled with the frail shine of distant stars.

Once the silk sinks in his skin, Derek ties the rope around the golden rod, stretching Stiles’ arms to the breaking point, his lean frame displayed for Derek to touch and see at will, the head of Derek’s cock now only teasing at his entrance.

Derek lays his palms in Stiles’ waist, smirking. “How do you like this teasing?” He asks, with a light turn of his crotch, his head ghosting over the entrance to Stiles’ hole, wrists pulling at the silky fabric keeping him in place with a whimper, yearning for more of Derek, wanting more, _needing_ more.

“I thought teasing others amused you.” Derek says in a mockery whisper, smile dancing around in his parted lips. “I guess it’s not so funny when you are the one being played with.”

“You made your point rather well, yes.” Stiles barely manages to say. “Now, if you could please –”

And before he can finish his sentence, Derek sets a fast and hard pace, punitive like the night before, and Stiles almost can’t handle it, the line between pleasure and pain blurring, until he can’t tell one from the other. “ _Please_.” Stiles pleads, and he doesn’t know if it is for Derek to speed up and just pound into him as hard as he can or to stop, to just give him release and _stop._ Derek chooses to fasten his pace, making Stiles release a shout even louder and more desperate than before, voice cracking at the end and dying a blissful death, a creaking sound echoing from above as he pulls hard against the golden rod and, _yeah_ , that was it.

 

* * *

 

Stiles wakes from his slumber feeling as if inside a giant furnace, stuck between Derek’s torso and the bed sheets, his flat cock sprawled along Stiles’ but cheek and his right hand possessively laying below Stiles’ waistline, almost like he’s trying to imprint a brand of ownership in Stiles’ flesh overnight. 

The feel of Derek’s palm feels good against Stiles’ skin, the thought of ownership haunting behind closed eyelids, making it unable to fall asleep. So, Stiles slides off the bed with care not to wake Derek up and wanders around the room, cleaning his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand and skimming his eyes through the titles of the hundreds… no, the _thousands_ of books kept uncared in the Captain’s Lair.

 _A Lombax Guide to Machinery and Weaponry. The History of the Universe, Volume XXI. Captain Quark: The Wake of a hero. Intergalactic Geography’s Botanical Guide, Volume VIX. The Great Clock._ Annihilate them! _and other evil mottos. The New Adventures of Lance and Janice._ He reads, wishing the time to read them all.

His attention is, however, drawn to a marble bust of Derek’s features, instantly mimicking the hard lines of his lips, the deep curve of his brows, feeling like he’s making the exact same expression as when he wants to go to the bathroom to take a load. Maybe Derek is always holding in Mr. Brown. Poop face or not, you got to be really pretentious to carve a bust of yourself out of marble and place it in your lair.

Meet _Captain_ Derek Hale.

Taking his eyes off of Derek’s creepy manifestation of overbearing confidence in his looks, he notices a bunch of charts laying untouched and abandoned by Derek’s wide mahogany desk, sitting his bare ass in Derek’s really comfortable laced with leather chair, only flushing mildly when the memories of events passed assault him, quickly pushing them aside.

About to dive into the charts, a wild thought creeps in –

Maybe Derek wouldn’t be too happy if Stiles went through his stuff, uninvited and unattended.

On the other hand, his fingertips are already on the rich wood of the desk, grazing over the edges of the enticing sheets of paper. Lost for an inch, lost for a mile has always been his motto.

At least it is right now.

So, Stiles starts inspecting the different charts with eager eyes, taking only seconds to realize the maps depict similar localizations, oddly noticing sections within the same chart that quite don’t fit together, belonging next to a different chart instead, like misplaced or malformed pieces of a puzzle.

Ripping old looking papyrus, Stiles starts piecing the different bits together, only to conclude that some parts are still missing but, at least, he has seemed to make something readable out of the charts at hand, looking down at his fabulous work with unabashed pride, lifting his eyes off his splendorous feet, ready to get his praise.

Only, when his eyes meet Derek still lying asleep in his ostensive bed does he realize that maybe, just maybe, the man will not like him to have _ripped_ what probably were valuable collection pieces, mortified by what he has just done.

The image of his head exploding in deep outer space is quick to greet him.

And his dad, his poor dad will never know the fate that befall his only son. At least Stiles hopes Scott remains well treated aboard the ship that will now likely become his permanent home.

Shoving premature thoughts of certain doom away, Stiles quickly and carefully collects his clothing shed randomly around the room, sliding them on and hoping as he turns the doorknob of Derek’s cabin that the ship is big and smelly enough to hide him until they land someplace.

 _Any_ place.

Otherwise, he is just so undoubtedly dead, he and the word _alive_ aren’t even in the same galaxy, let alone the same sentence. 


	4. Chapter 4

“Look who the tide washed in.” Derek notes once the door to his cabin opens and Finstock comes in, holding a pliant Stiles. “And you sure took long enough.”

Finstock drops Stiles ass first into the rug.

“Hey!” Stiles complain, hiding behind a feisty attitude like a child behind his mother’s skirt. “Wooden boards hurt, even underneath a silky surface!”

“Sorry, my Captain, he’s both slippery and cunning, this one.” Finstock informs, in lieu of an apology, giving a slap to the back of Stiles’ head and ignoring his protests.

“Of that I know.” Derek agrees, standing up from behind his seat and walking around his desk, gaze never leaving Stiles’, fear and anticipation concealed behind honey brown irises. “You can leave us now, Master Finstock.”

With a tentacle salute, Finstock abandons the quarters.

Derek looks down at Stiles once again. “Planning on growing roots?” He asks.

Stiles eyes widen, the foggy mist of surprise clearing when Stiles lifts. “You must think you are hilarious.” He says, sarcastically.

Derek rests his weight against a mahogany edge. “Why were you hiding?”

“Huh, have you noticed the human sized octopus wandering around?” Stiles asks, thumb pointing back towards the cabin’s entrance. “Anyone _sane_ would be hiding.”

Derek ponders the answer for a little bit. “Would make sense, I guess, were this your first day. Surely it wouldn’t be due to the mess a certain someone made of my charts. They kind look like a bad school assignment. Someone must’ve had terrible grades at manual arts.” Derek says with a smirk.

“You’re joking.” Stiles deadpans, taken aback.

“Don’t take me wrong, I was pretty mad when I saw there. Ripping your throat out with my teeth sparked my thought.” Derek says, resting a hand on the charts, fear tickling his nose and a gulp echoing in his ears. “Off course, then I realized what exactly you had done – quite ingenious.”

“What exactly are they?” Stiles asks, curiosity lacing his tone.

 “I take it you haven’t seen all six frames.” Derek guesses, words met with a blank stare. “The drawings carved in the masts.”

“A Lycan leaves his planet on a human cruise, along with its fortune.”

“And I wonder what happens next.” Derek ponders.

Stiles’ eyes lit as realization washes over him. “The treasure was hidden.”

“The key to its location divided.” Derek continues.

“A treasure map kept within a puzzle.” Stiles finishes.

“A puzzle you finally made sense of.” Derek reveals. “I guess I should thank you. Next time, just be sure I want my property teared to pieces before you, well, tear it.”

“No problem.” Stiles assures. “We’re celebrating, then.” He guesses, swinging awkwardly in his feet, head tilting towards a bottle of rosy color, resting on a coaster. 

“I take it you have tasted alcohol before.” Derek asks with the quirk of an eyebrow.

A red shade flushes through Stiles’ cheeks. “Nope, can’t say that I have. Underage.” He explains, pointing towards himself. “Dad’s a sheriff. And, oh, right, alcohol is so expensive that if I were to steal a bottle of it out of the Whittemore’s or the Martin’s winery, I would be in for so long I would plead the death sentence.”

“So, this will be a novelty for you.” Derek notes, pouring the bottle’s content into a crystal glass he takes off a cabinet, the coldness of the drink misting its facade.

“Like everything aboard this ship has.”

Derek takes a slow gulp out of the drink, watching as Stiles eagerly closes and opens his left hand into a fist with barely contained anticipation.

Approaching Stiles, Derek tilts his head back, his eyes looking up at him expectantly and with untamable curiosity as Derek grazes a finger over Stiles’ soft, pink and perfectly shaped bottom lip, opening his mouth and pouring the liquid in through a kiss that warms his inside, which is quite puzzling.

Lycans are immune to alcohol, although there is a rather tasteful stream of wolfsbane that produces in them the same jolly effect.

Stiles crunches his face in a grimace at first, looking about to spit the drink.

“Let it marinate.” Derek whispers in his ear, caressing Stiles’ jaw with the tips of his fingers. “Let it wash over your taste buds, let them get accustomed to its palate.” And over the sound of Derek’s words, Stiles’ stance relaxes. “You can taste it now, the mellow sweetness of its fruit as well as the bubbly sting of alcohol, can’t you?”

Stiles nods just the slightest.

Derek slides his tongue between the softness of Stiles’ lips, tilting Stiles’ head forward and stealing a bit of the rosy nectar from within Stiles’ mouth, swallowing the liquid and, gently rubbing Stiles’ throat. “You can swallow now.” He whispers, lips ghosting over his.

Stiles gulps, coughing. “It burns on its way down like a bitch!” He complains with yet more coughing. “Although now it’s warming through my insides in a pleasant way. It reminds me of…” And his words die in his mouth, Derek guessing what they could possibly be by the spicy scent of arousal burning in his nostrils.

“How did you like it?” Derek whispers, leaning forward.

“It was not unpleasant. I guess it takes some getting used to.” Stiles answers with nonchalance.

“I have another thing for you to taste.” Derek tells him, grabbing Stiles’ hand by the wrist and grazing his fingers through Derek’s breeches, through the bulge hidden behind black leather, cock already so hard, it’s insane.

There’s a blip in Stiles’ heart before he’s on his knees without Derek needing to utter out a single word.

“Then give it to me, my palate is feeling greedy today.” He smirks.

Derek pushes his leather breeches down, Stiles taking Derek’s cock into his mouth, that eager, witty, sarcastic and knowledge thirsty mouth, between his lips, pink and full, perfect for kissing to nibble, sliding them up and down the length of Derek’s cock, sucking _._ Beautiful are those lips, quite like Stiles himself.

The kind you write odes about.

The kind of odes that blossom between your lips in a pleasureful moan, that blissfully tilt your head backwards, that fluster your eyes and shiver your knees.

Derek brushes his hand through the buzz of Stiles’ hair, curling his fingers around his skull. “Tap if you need me to stop.” He voices, raw, pushing Stiles’ head further in to take all of his length, to choke around Derek’s cock, chokes rumbling through him like the waves of pleasure wash over him, tuned to the phases of a pair of lips.

Derek eases his grip when Stiles’ head when he taps, pulling back to cough and pant for air, taking only a few loafs of air before dipping back in, slicking Derek’s cock with spit, a string of spit spilling down his throat and into the tapestry, Stiles tongue restless as it always his, peeking out of Stiles’ mouth or licking at his lips, making Derek feel like his legs are about to pass out any second, as is he, from how good it all feels.

Oh, it feels so, so good…

He’s cumming before he even realizes it, a whine dying in his throat, sounding more like a beastly growl than a human hum, spilling inside Stiles who swallows his cum until the last drop as if it is the most delicious of nectars.

Derek drops his hand, a shuddering breath escaping him as spasms still course through.

Stiles lazily licks his cock, lips grazing through yet too sensitive skin and Derek grabs him by the shoulder, the texture of the raggedy fabric below his fingertips somehow feeling strange in the midst of present events – impersonal.

“You did good.” Derek tells him, kissing Stiles languidly and without much thought, the salty flavor of Derek’s own spunk assaulting him amidst the sweet aroma of the wine shared just minutes ago and he can’t quite bring himself to care.

“You tasted good.” Stiles smiles in return.

 

* * *

 

Derek wakes to rustling beside him, Stiles no longer by his side.

“Stay.” He says, laying a gentle hand in Stiles’ waist, fingers grazing through his skin, surprised by the honesty held within his words, by how they are a request instead of an order. As a captain he has found giving orders is so much easier, his commands always carried through. 

Requests can always be denied.

“You can make me company for breakfast. I might be in mood of a snack later.” He tries to disguise.

“I’m curious.” Stiles tells him and Derek takes it as a concession.

“Aren’t you always?”

A smile tilts the corner of Stiles’ lip. “I think better while walking, don’t worry, I ain’t going anywhere, no need to get too alarmed, insecure wolf.”

Derek grunts, laying his head along his arm, lying in the bed he made for himself. “Be my guest.”

“Hostage.” Stiles corrects. “And thank you.”

The bed tilts to the side as Stiles lifts his weight out of the mattress, standing up and wrapping a towel around his hip.

“I’ve seen without clothes, you know? Don’t need to get modest now.” Derek says, words carrying more truth than Stiles himself realizes, by the way his cheeks flush just the tinniest bit in a both awkward and sexy, much like Stiles himself.

Derek lays his head across his hand, turning sideways in the bed, his frame completely bare to Stiles’ eyes, his cock falling across his thighs.

Stiles’ eyes narrow. “I know. It’s distracting.” He says plainly, pacing across the room, kind of wobbling in his stance, towel hanging precariously from his hips.

Awkward and sexy.

“What spikes your curiosity?” Derek asks, himself growing intrigued.

“The whole universe is charted.” He says with a lifted finger.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Pirates, old pirates, from the old days, they used maps because oceans were mainly undiscovered and they would have no way to know where they kept their treasures otherwise.”

“True.”

“Your ancestor, Peter Hale, was quite an ingenious man, with the turning the charts into a puzzle, so I guess he wouldn’t do something so cliché as to mark the treasure’s lying ground with a cross. Not in such a simple way, anyway. Besides, then you would only need the part of the map with the cross. Old map with a cross? It would be the chatter of the universe.”

“Right again, though most people would call my great times something uncle a mad man.” Derek clarifies.

“Aren’t all geniuses?” Stiles asks with a grin.

 “Indeed they are.” And a pointy tongue his all too ready to greet him.

“So you need all pieces of the puzzle, assembled in the correct way. Only then would you be able to read it, to take a peek inside, to find what it reveals.”

“I’m so happy you wandered into my ship.” Derek chuckles. Seeing how Stiles mind goes, even if Derek is witnessing but a glimpse, is truly mesmerizing.

“I know. Your life would be but dark clouds without my sunny presence.”

“No clouds in the outer space, though. Guess I don’t need you after all.”

“Bummer.” Stiles says with a shrug. “You have it, don’t you?” He asks, eyes sparkling, brows wiggling.

“I do.” Derek concedes.

“Show me.”

“Find it.” Derek dares him, encompassing his cabin with the uplift of an arm.

“Challenge accepted.” Stiles nods with a grin. “So, you aren’t so cliché as to hide whatever it is in a vault behind the bookshelves, or you would more strongly oppose of me snooping around. Combine that with the _fear and adore me_ thing you have going on and… No way!” Stiles exclaims. “You really are a smug asshole.”

“Who’s resorting to insults?” Derek points out.

“How do you open it?” Stiles asks, ignoring him, fingers restless, eager to lay a touch on the marble surface of Derek’s bust.

“Smug assholes don’t tell their secrets.” Derek reminds him with a smirk.

Stiles turns around and grunts. “Really?” He asks.

Derek simply looks around.

“Whatever, I’ll open it by myself.” And, clear as clockwork, after a while of Stiles carefully grazing his fingers through cold marble, hands shaking and heart thundering, he finds the lever, the bust of Derek’s features parting in two and revealing a glowing blue prism. “A scanner.” Stiles whispers, voice bursting with wonder.

“An holographic scanner and emitter, to be more precise.” Derek reveals, whispering in Stiles’ ear, heart skipping just a bit as Stiles holds in a startled breath. Derek lays his hands just above Stiles’ waist, releasing him from his towel. “I trust you not to tell anyone.” He says, kissing his neck.

“Off course, I want to know to where it leads.” Stiles tells him, tilting his head back, allowing Derek to reach his lips for a kiss, his hand playing with the distracting patch of hair leading down towards Stiles’ cock, a path Derek plans to nuzzle with the tip of his nose.

“Let’s go back to bed. Breakfast is almost coming but I’m in the mood for a snack.”

“What are we waiting for, then?” Stiles asks, turning around and pushing Derek unto the bed, both of them falling into the soft mattress.

A laugh echoes out from Derek’s throat.

Things with Stiles are just so easy. 


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles regards his reflection with curiosity, a golden frame adorned with intricate floral patterns showcasing his attire – a red waistcoat over a bright yellow shirt, a pair of velvet breeches in an exuberant purple shade, held by a simple belt, cover a pair of light blue stockings leading to a pair of brown shoes decorated with golden buckles and green laces.

A tremble signaling their descent into Kerwan shakes the cabin, threatening Stiles’ balance and rattling the chandelier above him.

Stiles quickly approaches the window and presses his features against the cool glass, looking over Metropolis, the majestic city dawning in the horizon with skyscrapers high as mountains, painted in a variety of bright metallic colors gleaming in the sunlight, no layer of smoke hovering its skies like a bad omen.

Looking down at the docks, Stiles witnesses a few elements of the crew sliding through lengths of rope and anchoring the ship. The low rumble of the engines subsides, vessel left hovering over a magnetic field, the ground below nothing but a hazy blur.

Derek opens the door in the same pirate attire from when they first met, unannounced. “Oh, I see you’re ready. I was hoping I could be of some assistance.”

“I can imagine.” Stiles says, looking down at his outfit. “How does it suit me?” He asks, unsure.

“Spin for me.” Derek requests with the twirl of a finger, steeping inside the cabin and closing the door behind him.

After a twirl that leaves him feeling slightly ridiculous, Derek is but a few inches away.

“The attire suits you in ways that are giving me the urge to postpone our little stroll to Metropolis.” Derek tells him, brushing his palms through the fabric of the closely fitted waistcoat and hooking his fingers around the belt. “May I ask why you look like a clown?”

Stiles slaps Derek’s chest. “You really are a jerk! I’ve made research, mind you! This is a style of pirate wear worn by the Motley Crew, consisting of bright, mis matched colors.” He informs with a proud smile.

“Then I’m sorry to inform you we are not in the middle ages.”

Stiles chuckles. “That’s precious, Derek.” He says with a disbelieving nod, covering his smile with a free hand. “Almost all your crewmen wear colors under the Elizabethan Sumptuary Laws. You yourself are a giant fuck you sign to the late departed Queen.”

“I don't know what you're referring to.” Derek says, eyes roaming around the cabin and Stiles would dare say his cheeks look a little rosy.

Oh, he’ll milk this.

“The old vessel, the sumptuous yet old fashioned furniture, the pirate wear. Admit it, Derek, you are a pirate buff. I have seen your holovid collection. I actually quite admire it. You have nothing you need to be ashamed of, you big pirate geek. Embrace the nerd within you!” Stiles declares with a lift of his glorious fist.

Derek grunts like he regrets all his life choices, sinking his fingers in Stiles’ ass and roughly pressing his lips against Stiles’, more teeth than anything else.

He has so won this argument.

After a light nibble, Derek pushes his tongue between Stiles’ swollen lips, their mouths closing with a clack that echoes in the small cabin, rocking their crotches together. Stiles moans, feeling the hardness of Derek’s length sliding along his own and chases the heavenly friction with a jerk of his hips.

Derek steps back, breaking the kiss and Stiles staggers forward, losing his balance for a bit. “As much as I enjoy this, it seems you would like exploring the city so much more. Well, Stiles, your wishes are my command.”

“Come back here and fuck me, Captain Asshole.” Stiles orders, smashing his lips with Derek’s, drawn in a cocky smirk.

“Your wish is my command.” Derek says smugly between a kiss, his hat flying across the cabin and hitting the armchair with a thud.

Metropolis can wait half an hour.

 

* * *

 

Stiles walks wide eyed through the busy streets of Metropolis, unable to prevent his eyes from wandering across the crowd, lingering on a set of four arms, flickering on a lone eye, staring shamelessly at a horn sticking from a forehead, curiously peering at a pair of claw shaped hands. Some of the metropolitans even look animal like, others seeming plain bizarre.

The lifestyle in Metropolis seems to be equally diverse, from people rushing towards work with a quick pace, a walk that always carries a sense of inevitable doom, of resigned defeat, to playful jogging, to carefree chatter, the air buzzing with topics as wide as who won the Intergalactic Cup last night to whom will be the next heir of Argent Force, the loyal daughter or the prodigal son.

Merchants in trailers or sitting in mats sprawled across the pristine white flooring sell their merchandize by big commercial enterprises.

Flying cars and hover crafts fly silently beside buildings reaching far up into the sky, even though the platform Stiles stands in is so high he feels dizzy whenever he dares looking down.

It’s like being inside a candy store for the very first time.

And weighting on his conscience like a stolen treat is a gun tucked below layers of clothing.

Stealing it from the weaponry cabinet under Greenberg’s nose had been risky in the least, hiding the gun in a hideout he himself carved into the ship, figuring Derek would know each and every hidden compartment in his nautical dwelling, like tempting fate. Excusing himself just after dressing his pirate attire for the second time that day to retrieve the weapon with a blatant excuse of imminent bladder eruption just plain idiotic.  

All to discover Scott had gone with Isaac, Boyd and Erica in their quest to gather and assemble parts for a “magnetic distabilizer”, whatever that was, the rest of the crewman off to acquire provisions.

There went his escape plan.

At least Metropolis is proving itself interesting.

Soon enough, though, Stiles realizes his prying gazes are being met with weird stares and crinkling noses. And Stiles doesn’t smell. He just checked, whiffing his arm pits and feeling slightly ridiculous doing so.

“Why is everyone looking at us?” Stiles asks, confusion tainting his tone, being greeted by a pair of pointy ears, sideburns framing Derek’s features and sharp fangs peeking over his bottom lip, glinting in the bright sunlight. “Why are you half wolfed out?”

“They are not looking at me.” Derek says like he holds a secret and he’s smug about it.

No way. “You are a pirate. You loot and take hostages and are a general asshole. I’m just a harmless human.” Stiles deadpans, hands moving around frantically.

“Oh, Stiles, we both know you are anything but harmless. Wit can be deadly.” Derek says with a grin and a wiggle of his eyebrow. “And you’re human.” He adds, like the thought had just occurred to him.

“When did humans ever hurt anyone?” Stiles asks.

“Perhaps you should ask my family tree.” Derek tells him and Stiles can hear the hint of sorrow buried below a teasing smirk.

“I see your point.” Stiles agrees with a nod, stomach in a turmoil.

“Also, your planet was quite something, you know? Earth was the jewel of your solar system, the once glorious and majestic blue marble, now nothing more than an orbiting speck of dust, a shadow of its former glory. Species from much more inhospitable planets feel a little resentful.” Derek reveals.

“Well, there must be someone who messed up worst than we did.” Stiles tries with a shrug.

Derek ponders for a bit. “Blargs and Cragmites, bloody nasty creatures.”

“Awesome. We’re hovering above rock bottom. You really know how to cheer a guy up, Derek.” Stiles praises Derek’s efforts sarcastically, with an eye roll.

Derek bumps his arm with Stiles’. “C’mon mate, there’s no time to fret. We have a museum to be welcomed to and a chart piece to borrow.” He says, dragging Stiles along.

“I think you mean loot.” Stiles corrects, lips tilting up and shaking his head. “You cheered me up with the promise of pillaging a beacon of historical knowledge. You are lucky I am so easily pleased.”

“Let’s not give you all the credit, shall we? I happen to be quite adept at pleasing. You certainly seemed to enjoy my skills, if your pleasurable moans muffled in silky bed sheets are anything to go by. Or perhaps I shall remind you tonight, make you beg for it.” Derek offers, voice turning into a rasp whisper, charged with a heavy layer of seduction.

Stiles’ dick twitches and the muscles of his rims clench at the mere memory of Derek rocking into him, a heat gathering in his belly and taking refuge in his cheeks, Derek’s mouth opening in an irritating smug grin.

Damn werewolf senses.

“We’re here.” He announces once they come to a halt by the Metropolis Museum, a building historical in architecture, hosting a _private_ historical exhibition.

“How do you propose you get in?” Stiles asks, motioning to the cat like security troops.

“I guess we could sneak in, but there’s a chance we could get caught.” Derek rubs a hand over his chiseled jaw, thoughtfully. “There’s also the option of kicking our way in, of course then we would most find ourselves in very delicate position. I, being a Lycan, would heal. You, my friend, would not. So I guess that’s also a no, since I seem to find pleasure in your company.”

“Yeah, and I very much enjoy being alive, thank you. Do you have any more bright ideas?” Stiles asks, voice heavy with sarcasm.

 “I guess we could use this.” He offers, fishing a pair of tickets from a pocket of his waistcoat. “I mean, this is how people get in on these kinds of events, is it not?”

“Asshole.” Stiles accuses, yanking a ticket from Derek’s grasp. “How did you get these, anyway?”

“I borrowed them from a man of considerate wealth.” Derek tells him.

“I think you mean stole.” Stiles corrects.

Derek shrugs. “Oh, of course, where are my manners? I stole the lovely things after leaving their previous owner in a quite pitiful state, disposing him of all his precious belongings.” He offers. “Care to follow me inside or would you like to keep debating semantics?” Derek asks, offering Stiles an arm.

“Lead the way.”

“With pleasure.” Derek says with a smirk and a wink.

Stiles shakes his head with a chuckle. “Take it easy, Romeo.” He tells Derek, handing his ticket to the guard and stepping inside the Metropolitan Museum. “Having sex in a semi secluded corner of the museum would be incredibly tacky and incredibly risky. We should try it some time.” Stiles says, grazing his hand over Derek’s crotch and feeling the pirate’s dick half hard under the breeches, letting go of his arm to freely roam around the museum.

A smirk tilts his lips when Derek groans.

“I guess you would love if there weren’t other people around right now.” Stiles whispers, knowing all too well Derek can listen, turning over a corner.

“I’ll take care of you tonight.” Derek tells him with a raspy voice and darkening eyes, laying a hand possessively on Stiles’ waist, suddenly behind him, but letting him lead the march.

Thoughts of Derek, sexy times and the chart dim away as Stiles’ attention is drawn to the historical pieces on display, roaming throughout the exhibition as his eyes wander around, taking in a giant fossil of a dinosaur reaching far up into the high ceiling, a model reconstruction of the Robot Invasion of Metropolis, a bronze sculpture of Captain Starshield and, kept under a glass covering, the missing chart of Peter Hale’s treasure.

“I trust you remember what shall be done.” Derek says.

“Yes, Captain Bossy Pants, don’t worry.” Stiles reassures, words met with an inquiring pair of brows. He sighs. “You distract the guard, which I have no idea if it is a male or a female troop lurking beneath so much fur…” Derek coughs. “Right, hum, I find my way towards the control panel, taking advantage of the cameras’ blind spots. I pick my way in and disable digital surveillance. I got this, Derek. We went over this a million times. “

“You can’t blame an old pirate for being overzealous.” Derek teases.

Stiles slaps him in the arm. “You know very well I don’t like it when you refer to yourself as an old pirate, it weirds me out.”

“I know. Now I’m off to flirt with the guard. Try not to be jealous.” Derek tells him, smug.

“I would never.” Stiles argues, Derek already walking towards his target.

“Your heart speaks differently.” Derek says and how he manages to say something so corny with a mocking smirk makes Stiles grunt in frustration.

Damn Werewolf senses. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably over did it with the innuendos, opps. And there will be sex next chapter, yeyy. Also, here is a [Cazar](http://images.wikia.com/ratchet/images/5/54/Cazares.png), if you need visuals. 

Approaching the female Cazar, Derek tries not to think about how much she reminds him of _her_. “Hi.” He says, making his most charming smile.

“How original...” Stiles mocks dryly through the inter com.

“Hi.” She says back, a shy smile drawing on her lips as she faces him.

“I can’t believe she fell for that.” Stiles snickers and Derek pictures him slapping his face and shaking his head in disapproval.

 “I’m a pirate fan, which you can probably tell from my attire.” He motions to himself.

Stiles snorts. “That’s not all she can tell from your attire, if you catch my drift.”

 She chuckles. “And a really committed one, I can see.”  She says with an approving nod, eyes lingering on his frame. “Our pirate exhibition is next month, by the way.”

“I’ll be delighted to attend.” Derek says, words laced with a thick layer of seduction, succeeding in his attempts to charm her, if the love struck look he gets is of any indication.

“I’m going to hurl.” Stiles grunts, feigning gagging noises.

“And I’ve noticed you have one of the legendary long lost charts of Lycan Peter Hale. I mean, until now I thought they were just rumors, you know?  Like the story of the antique ship he stole from earth.”

“They say he restored it and technologically upgraded it.” The Cazar shakes her head. “People will believe anything.”

“I know. Sometimes it’s almost sad.” Derek agrees.

“Tell me about it.” Stiles says in a overdramatic tune, like he’s physically hurting.

“I wonder if you could tell me a bit more about the chart and Peter himself, if you can spare me the time.” Derek offers.

“Of course.” She utters out without much thought, embarrassment soon assaulting Derek’s nostrils. “I mean… I can be of assistance.”

“This sounds like the intro to a bad porno.” Stiles notes.

“And assist you will.” Derek agrees, leading her towards the glass covered chart, a smirk dawning on his lips as Stiles’ footsteps dim in the distance, choking on thin air.

“Well, as you know, these matters are always surrounded by wild speculation. However, since the chart was found on a recent dig site right here in Metropolis, I guess some of tales must be true.” She says, their shoulders brushing slightly together.

“How dull would be the world without a bit of _wild_ speculation?” Derek inquires, eyebrows waggling and he notices a shade of red dying her cheeks even over the soft fur covering her features. 

“You can give me blue balls later, Derek. Now, let her tell the story.” Stiles shushes him.

“I guess you’re right.” She nods, lowering her eyes and cleaning her throat. “Well, where was I?”

“Awesome, she’s more easily distracted than I am and you can’t sex me up right now. You’re the worst.” Stiles complains and Derek is starting to realize that perhaps using com units was not such a good idea.

“Oh, I remember.” The Cazar exclaims and Derek can feel Stiles holding his breath in anticipation, even over the com. “Historians documented that after one too many foul encounters with the humans, Peter was left in a pretty bad shape and simply vanished. However, this new finding seems to confirm some of the rumors.”

“What rumors?” Derek asks with a lift of an eyebrow, a question Stiles echoes.

“Many years ago there were stories told about howls heard every full moon. Children would cry. Grown man would shiver upon hearing howls filled with sorrow and despair for his fallen kind the skies themselves would weep.” She says, tone growing of intensity, like she’s telling a simple story.

Derek closes a fist and Stiles is oddly quiet.

“Well, half truth, half lie sounds about right. Thank you.” Derek nods his regards, trying his best to keep a pleasant and flirtatious facade. “Perhaps we could arrange a meeting when I return for the pirate exhibition.” He says.

She takes a card out of her pocket and hands it to Derek. “Perhaps I’ll have the day off.”

“It would be a pleasure.” Derek nods, eyes glancing from the female figure walking away to rest on the map piece, his palm touching the cool glass surface, the chart so close to his grasp he can almost feel the harsh texture of old musk paper between his fingers.

He has been looking for so long it seems surreal to finally stand so close, like a dream.

“I think you earned a _you’re trying too hard_ medal for that over the top performance. Pity I left them at home.” Stiles says with a fake sadness to his tone, his voice somehow tethering Derek.

“Perhaps next time you’ll do the seduction.” He whispers mockingly.

“Hey, I can seduce! And you seem like a possessive type of guy, so I’ll prove you wrong and I’ll get hot jealous sex – a double win for team Stilinski.” Stiles says, fist cutting the air.

“Don’t push me.” Derek says, both a threat and a promise, smirking.

“Shit.” Stiles mutters and Derek is suddenly alert.

“What is it?” He mutters too loud, some people staring at him like he’s a mad man, which he figures it’s exactly the picture his painting by apparently talking with himself.

“Awesome, you probably attracted everyone’s attention.” Stiles complains with a huff, rustling coming from across the com. “Now people think you’re talking to yourself like a lunatic, which, werewolf pun.”

Derek scratches his ear.

“Okay, okay, keep your pants on, for now. I think the Metropolitan Museum upgraded their security system – bummer. You should acquire better informants.”

 _Fuck_.

Derek looks around, eyes wandering from the people admiring the historical pieces, some still side eyeing him, to the guard, lustful pair of eyes still lingering on Derek, smiling and waving as she catches his gaze.

Fuck.

They need a distraction.

“We need a distraction.” Says Stiles and Derek snorts. “I’m going to cut a wire. Rustle if you hear me.” He tells him and as soon as Derek goes to scratch his ear yet again, feeling slightly dog like doing so, Stiles speaks. “Actually, don’t. Oh, and another thing – your plan _sucks_.”

A deafening screech floods his senses.

“Aren’t you going to wish me good luck for my departure, hopefully finding no security along the way?” Stiles asks.

Derek snorts as people around him wince at the sudden loud noise, being escorted by the security lady towards the exit. “I’m sure you’ll rise to the occasion. You’re certainly able to both annoy and outsmart anyone.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Stiles tells him, shameless of the pride in his voice.

Derek chuckles and shakes his head, a fondness curling comfortably in his stomach.

“You should come with us.” The guard tells him, laying a hand on his shoulder, shouting over the alarm, her arm around a man hurt during the sudden turmoil.

“Maybe I should help your colleagues. In this commotion, they’ll probably need all the muscle available.” Derek tries with a charming smile.

Her heart falters, eyes flickering down. “Okay. Be careful and good luck.” And then she’s gone.

“Let me guess. You fluttered your eyelashes.” Stiles mocks.

“Shut up.” Derek mutters, refusing to let his cheeks redden.

Approaching the glass covering, Derek takes a deep breath, bracing himself for the myriad of sensations washing over him, an itch in his fingers he can’t scratch away, anticipation pounding in his heart, excitement blurring the corners of his eyes, a sense of impending doom dancing in the outskirts of his mind, taunting him, sudden triumph feeling like a velvet rug threatening to be pulled from beneath his feet at any moment.

Well, this is Derek’s song and he’ll dance to it time and time again.

He rests his palms against the cool glass covering, a weight lifting from his shoulders, letting gravity play its part, glass shattering with a muffled thud when reaching the carpet flooring. “We won’t need such royalties.” He says, missing Stiles’ voice.

A chuckled laugh comes through the com and a smile pulls at the edges of Derek’s lips. “You’re such a drama queen.” Stiles accuses.

“Distracts me from the approaching footsteps.” Derek informs with a careless shrug, alarm silencing as he sneaks the carefully curled chart in a pocket under his long black coat.

“Then get out of there, you dumbass.” Stiles hurries him.

“Who died and made you captain?” Derek asks dryly and Stiles makes an offended squawk.

“Sorry for caring.” Stiles tells him, mockingly resentful.

“Turn slowly.” A voice orders from behind.

“Oops, I guess it’s too late.” Stiles says, echoing his own thoughts.

Derek turns, saluting them with a lift of his hat and a small curve of his back.

“Return the chart right now or we will shoot.” One of them orders, voice steady, finger tight and firm around the trigger.

Derek smirks. “Well, I could do that, but you lack proper firepower. I guess budget cuts left out wolfsbane bullets. A shame, really.”

“You are antagonizing the guys with guns. And I don’t know if I admire your guts or pity your stupidity. I’m supposed to be the reckless one, you know?” Stiles says, like it’s a competition and it probably is.  

“We can still incapacitate you.” He threatens.

“I wasn’t aware it was a competition.” He tells both of them.

“The good sir makes a terrific point and you lose on both accounts.” Stiles tells him, and which side is he on?

Derek silently nods, figuring he is right but refusing to grant him such joy. “Well it has been a pleasure.” He says with another lift of his hat, dashing through a corridor.

“After him!” The guard orders, gunfire raining down on him as they chase him through the hallways framed by valuable relics.

“Apparently you stole their centerpiece.” Stiles offers his always useful commentary.

“Well, it’s been my long lost heirloom for longer.” Derek retorts.

“Aren’t you too old for calling dibs?” Stiles jokes.

“I’m not too old to spank your ass.” Derek growls, voice smoky and turning left as a bullet buzzes right near his hear.

Stiles coughs, surprised, and Derek can almost smell the spicy scent of arousal, a deliciously warm rosy shade taking comfort in his cheeks. “We could try that, some time, since I’m expecting a thank you for making you memorize the plants of the building in case something went wrong, which it did, or for sparing your poor little fangs and claws from an overblown escape performance.” He teases.

Derek smirks. “I’ll think about that. Besides, a show never hurt anyone.” He says, propelling his body forward just in time.

“You’re not –”

Derek closes his fist in a punch, impact muffling Stiles’ reply, the drywall turning to bits and pieces beneath his raw strength, body curling as he lands on his hands and somersaults back up with a slight pull of his palms, landing on his feet.

“Yes, Stiles, I’m going to punch through the wall.” He smirks, smug, brushing dust off his coat and picking up his fallen hat.

Stiles simply gapes at him, incredulous.

“I thought you were in a hurry.” Derek says, waving forward.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yes, we are. Let’s go, _showoff_.”And then they start running, guards soon hot on their tails and refraining from firing as Derek and Stiles merge with the crowd.

“You’re probably wishing for real back up right about now.” Stiles says, voice faltering when he bumps with a pedestrian, who flips them the finger between unpleasant words.

“I was going to apologize before realizing you are an asshole, so fuck you!” Stiles wheezes back over his shoulder.

“And ruin our romantic outing?” Derek asks, brows shooting up and a smile threatening to disrupt the thin line of his lips.

Stiles chuckles. “If robbery and pursuit are your ideas of a date, I’m never coming out with you ever again.” He teases.

“I prefer staying in and stretching you wide anyway, having you lying on my bed as I rock hard onto your ass.” Derek smirks and Stiles almost falls, gagging on thin air, legs tangling and feet stumbling in each other, his smirk turning in a mocking grin as arousal hits his nostrils like a high speed train, dick growing hard under his garments.

Derek focuses on the run, on the steady pace of his heart.

“You’re such an asshole.” Stiles accuses, regaining his balance.

“I would be an asshole if I were to take you right now, to fuck you in front of all these people, to leave you panting and whimpering from the expert twist and turn of my fingers, a much more pleasurable activity than running for your life. If I were to behave in such a way, then I would be an asshole.” Derek says, voice hoarse from reasons unrelated to physical fatigue.

Stiles stumbles again, Derek holding him up with a tight grip around his arm. “Don’t say things like that!” He shouts, a vein form his neck popping out, inviting.

“I was merely trying to convey a point.” Derek clarifies, pulling Stiles along until he’s running again, sparing the guards a few feet behind a look over his shoulder.

“I always thought after having sex things wouldn’t feel like this anymore, like I’m still a virginal teenager jacking off three times a day in order to avoid a very agonizing death from frustration of a sexual nature every time a short skirt or a tight shirt springs my attention.” Stiles reveals in way of confession and, eyes lingering on the spots where the fabric of his light yellow shirt clings to the sweat of Stiles’ skin, Derek and the uncomfortable bulge in his breeches agree with him.

“Maybe it’s the rush of a dangerous chase, the excitement of a mission.” Stiles wonders.

“Maybe I’m just that good.” Derek offers with a wink.

Stiles slaps him in the shoulder.

They pass a food truck, Stiles stealing a local delicacy from an unsuspecting pedestrian, taking a big bite and moaning at the tastes of fried oil and spices, Derek’s eyes following the way his tongue swipes slowly along his bottom lip. “Stop looking at me with your pair of judgmental eyes! Exercise makes me hungry.”

“I’ve noticed. You eat like a starved man every time –” Derek lets his words trail off wander off when Stiles narrows his eyes. Derek tilts his eyebrows up and down anyway, for good measure and Stiles rolls his eyes, letting the napkin fall uselessly on the ground as he takes a final bite.

 “Finally!” Stiles shouts to the skies, like his prayers have been answered as soon as they reach the docks. “My legs are burning, man. I think the moment we reach the ship I won’t get up for a week.”

“As long as you choose my cabin for your housing needs, fine by me.” Derek says with a smirk and not a single drop of sweat, unlike Stiles.

“Metropolis PD!” A Cazar warns ahead, gun aiming at them. “Stop right now.”

“We’re not surrendering, are we?” Stiles whispers, sparing a moment of rest as he curves down, laying his hands on his knees as he takes a deep breath of fresh air, wheezing.

Derek closes his hand over Stiles’, drawing his reply with a finger. “Catch us if you can.” He challenges, dragging Stiles along a row of crates, a gunshot muffling his carefree laugh, birds nesting nearby fearfully screeching and scurrying away.

“You’ll get us both killed.” Stiles chuckles, sounding all but upset. “Well, you’ll get me killed. You’ll probably just be arrested.”

Derek makes a quick turn left, sensing a set of three footsteps approaching from the right.

“Normally people are a bit more wary of their final breath.”

“Are you kidding me? I’ll never regret this. I got to live an adventure. I planned a freaking heist, I robbed a museum, I’m running for my fucking life, I deciphered an hundred years old enigma, a riddle hidden in a map which was really a puzzle. And most of all, I’m not dying a virgin, can’t forget about that.” Stiles tells him.

“I will never forget about that.” Derek says with a crooked smile, reflected in Stiles’ lips. “Let’s just not end the list there. There are still some very dirty things I would like to do to you.”

“You won’t hear any complaints from me.” Stiles declares, tightening his hold on Derek’s hand.

And then he takes a gun from a holster concealed beneath his coat, shooting towards a crate, surprised yelps being carried through the air as they turn right towards the ship, Derek able to hear the sound of the thruster coils already working, their roar like a beacon.

Derek hears footsteps approaching from the right, something odd about them, sounding too high. It almost seems like they are running past the wooden crates, above ground level.

As if –

“Ugh.” Derek grunts, a loaf of air being pushed out of his lungs as he’s tackled down before even sparing a look up, fingers unraveling from Stiles’ as they both tumble around across the gravel, weapon tinkling way from his grasp.  

Derek is soon back on his feet, finding himself standing on the opposite side of a barrel and growls menacingly, feeling his eyes turn a looming shade of red, nails turning into claws, the ground trembling below his feet.

Stiles raises up ungracefully a few seconds later.

The Cazar is unstirred by his wordless threats, smirking. “You’re not going anywhere.” He declares, firing into the gravel ground as Stiles takes a step towards the fallen gun, a bright blue glow shining among the smoke coming from the recently carved dent, the smell of wolfsbane immediately burning Derek’s nostrils, flaming his throat and watering his eyes.

“Okay, kitten, no funny business, got it.” Stiles says, holding up his hands in surrender and presenting the Cazar with two thumbs up, letting out a nervous chuckle, and scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“Don’t call me kitten, _bald ape_.” The cop mutters.

“You’re surrounded.” Another Cazar says, a set of footsteps reaching its wake behind them.

“Where is the rest of the welcome party?” Stiles asks, looking from a Czar to the other, clapping his hands together like this is a mere social meeting.

The Cazares ignore him, keeping their sights locked on Derek.

Derek arches a brow, or he would if he presently had any. “They’ll be here sporting gifts in a moment.” He says dryly, knowing by now how foolish it is to disregard Stiles’ random and slightly ludicrous thoughts.

“How nice of them.” Stiles coos, hand quickly reaching below his waistcoat, the handle of a weapon of modest size peeking through the purple breeches. “Unfortunately, we are in a bit of a hurry.”

And before Derek has any time to feel angry, surprised, alarmed or betrayed, he’s covering Stiles as he shoots both Czars, feeling two gunshots firing through his expensive attire and burning their way through him, painful howls tearing the peaceful sky.

“Shit, Derek.” Derek hears Stiles utter out, a hint of worry underneath his annoyed demeanor.

Derek ears are buzzing, his vision blurring, nose scenting nothing but the foul smell of wolfsbane flaming its way through his body like a poison and preventing him from properly healing, feeling Stiles’ muscled arm sliding below his own and holding him tight, keeping him up and carrying him forward, Derek’s feet stumbling upon each other before he realizes they are running.

His lazy gaze falls on Stiles, gun seemingly out of place in his long fingers. “How?” Derek is able to ask, voice weak and low and he should feel vulnerable, yet he doesn’t.

“Dad’s a sheriff, duh.” Stiles tells him, voice higher than usual.

Derek rolls his eyes, knowing Stiles knows well what he really means, but lets it slide, tucking his curiosity with the anger and tingling sense of distrust growing inside him.

“Turn left.” He tells Stiles, who follows his orders without question or second thought, which eases Derek’s doubts.

They still have a common goal, it seems.

“Take a shot towards the next crate on the left and turn right.” He says and Stiles promptly obeys, keeping the Cazares at bay and rushing towards their vessel.

“Mine is bigger than yours.” Stiles teases, easing the tension.

“Let’s not go there.” Derek warns easily with a smirk, Mighty Wolf appearing hovering in the distance. Perhaps wolfsbane has taken a tool on his better judgment. “I have better practice.”

“Hey, that is totally debatable.” Stiles complains.

“We’ll see.” Derek offers. Stiles heartbeat fluttering and for a slight, feeble moment, Derek forgets about the gun in Stiles’ hand.

“You’ll have to use those lazy legs of yours now, Derek. Can you do that for me?” Stiles asks in a challenge, voice slightly trembling.

Derek chooses showing instead of telling and if Stiles yelps, wrapping his arm tighter around him and muttering _jerk_ under his breath, Derek’s smirk only grows wider.

Feet landing on the deck, Derek knows his betas will smell the poisonous scent of wolfsbane, will see the holes tearing his garments and the weapon in between Stiles’ fingers. It’s a shame there’s a ship that needs to be sailed preventing that particularly dreaded conversation for the time being.

“Just keep it all in.” Derek tells them. “My captain’s duties await me.” He says, glaring Finstock away from the wheel and taking his place behind it. Gunfire rains on them, bullets ricocheting when reaching their shield. “Is the magnetic distabilizer ready?” He asks.

“It’s ready, fully operational and in sync with Kerwan’s frequency.” Boyd tells him.

“Then grab onto something mates, there’s a bloody bumpy atmosphere ahead.” He shouts and lets all his worries wash away for the time being, taking the handles and stirring the wheel.

 

* * *

 

Derek opens the door to his cabin and steps inside, followed by half his crew.

“He’s holding a gun!” Isaac tells him indignantly, finger accusingly pointed at Stiles.

“Oh, you’re right. I guess that is why both Stiles and I are alive and aboard this wonderful vessel. I had been wondering.” Derek says dryly, setting his hat aside, taking off his long coat, crimson waistcoat and his puffed sleeve shirt, letting the shredded clothing fall on the wooden flooring, leaving him bare from the waist up, Stiles’ heartbeat slightly fluttering at the sight. “Stiles, hand your stolen gun to Master Finstock to stow away. Maybe that will give mister Lahey some peace of mind. Also, Finstock, check if anything else is missing. You can never be too careful these days, it seems.” He waves.

A heartbeat among his crew members picks up its pace, nervous.

“I’m on it, Captain.” Finstock nods, closing the door behind him.

“Now that we’ve discussed mine and Stiles outing, how was yours?” Derek asks, sparing his betas a look while clearing his desk and gathering an oval bowl, a knife and a dishcloth, setting them on top the rich mahogany wood.

“Oh, I found the most amazing video store. They have this high tech virtual reality helmets with really realistic graphics played inside this gigantic room, which is more of a maze really, where you can walk and explore freely.” Isaac tells him enthusiastically.

“Okay, I’m feeling jealous right now.” Stiles admits. “I’m even more jealous since we can never come back here again. Am I right?”

Derek looks over his shoulder and arches an eyebrow, Stiles nodding and uttering a _right_. Derek rolls his eyes, starting to take out one of two bullets nested inside his abdomen between grunts of pain, mild chatter and an overwhelming stench of death.

“I bought a pair of dark heels, crimson stockings, black leather breeches and a crimson corset. I’m thinking of changing my color scheme.” Erica informs with a wolfish grin and Derek knows better than to ask why she just couldn’t use her previous set.

 “I just sat in this really low key café shop, which had this really beautiful view of the city, sipping tea from a gorgeous ceramic cup.” Boyd informs.

“I’m glad you all had such a great time.” Derek mutters, a metallic sound echoing in the cabin as Derek takes a bullet. “Although I doubt the parts of the magnetic distabilizer marched aboard and assembled themselves.”

A second bullet hits the ceramic bowl and Derek presses the dry cloth against his wounds.

“Hum.” Scott starts, nervously, raising a hand. “I gathered the parts and we met back at the ship to assemble them, together.”

Kneeling down, Derek takes an old wooden box with a triskelion engraving carved on its surface, opening it and letting his sense of smell be his guide.

“Scott has a natural talent for handling machinery.” Isaac says, proudly.

“Yeah, my best friend is really skillful, the best among earthen kind.” Stiles agrees, an arm around Scott shoulders, a bit of jealously masking his vanilla and chestnut scent.

“Stiles!” Scott complains, shoving him away. “That’s not true.” He whispers like Stiles just committed the most awful of felonies.

Derek grabs one of several wolfsbane recipients, closing the box and shoving it back under the bookshelf, standing up.

“I worked in a factory back on Earth.” Scott informs him, words sounding almost like an apology and Derek sees him shrugging from the corner of his eye, slightly embarrassed.

Stiles rolls his eyes, setting a second bowl on the desk, unasked, Derek’s eyes meeting Stiles’ honey brown ones, only managing a curt nod, thoughts still stirring his head in a turbulent mess. 

“My betas are, if anything, sincere.” Derek tells Scott, pouring wolfsbane powder into the pristine white bowl. “In my presence, at least. Your skills must be truly remarkable.”

Stiles snorts at the back handed compliment to his betas, slightly amused.

“Hey!” Isaac complains.

“At least we give compliments.” Erica bites back with a smile, which, touché.

Derek lights the powder, inhaling the bright, almost ethereal blue smoke that ignites through, cleansing the air of the foul stench, soothing the fire burning his throat and lungs, the wolves in the room taking an almost audible breath of relief.

“It’s really nothing.” Scott stutters out, eyes looking down.

When Derek turns back, feeling his body finally healing his injuries and cleaning the poison clogging his arteries, he sees bumping his elbow with Scott’s at his best friend’s modesty.

“Stiles is right, Scotty.” Derek says, clapping his hands together and receiving a grin from Stiles and a nose twitch from Isaac, judging him for not siding with his beta. “You should feel more proud of your accomplishments.” He continues, a grin widening his lips predatorily as he approaches the young man, Scott looking like he might as well run away any second now, Derek clasping a hand in his shoulder, keeping him still. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks…” Scott stutters out, voice trembling and heart thundering in his rib cage.

Finstock, the scent of fish and salty water unmistakably giving him out, opens the door at the same time Derek yanks a gun tucked beneath Scott’s trousers.

“Captain –”

“Let me guess, there is another pistol missing from the weapons cabinet?” He guesses, handing the gun to Finstock, Scott’s eyes bulging out in panic, Stiles’ in surprise and Isaac’s in shock, Boyd and Erica content with a pair of murderous side glance of their eyes.

Derek snorts, figuring by Stiles reaction he and Scott apparently had two separate escape plans, both of them resulting in complete failures, which was ridiculous in the very least.

“Store it away with the others.” He tells him as soon as Finstock takes the holder in his hand.

“I’ll do that right away, my Captain.” Finstock nods.

“My memory still seems to be a little hazy, perhaps from traces of wolfsbane still lingering in my system, so refresh my memory. Who’s been on guard duty over the weaponry cabinet this past week?” He asks, cocking an inquisitive brow.

“Greenberg.” Finstock mutters, enraged.

“I’ll let you take care of this matter as you see fit.” Derek tells him. “Oh, one more thing, Mr. McCall is being upgraded to hostage status.” He says and Isaac soon voices his protests. “Do me the favor of escorting him to his new housings. Isaac?” He asks, Finstock leaving the cabin with Scott by the collar, resigned.

“He stole a gun as well.” Isaac states, like these are breaking news to Derek, which are not. He was there. “How do you propose to deal with him?” He asks, crossing his arms stubbornly.

“Stiles will be kept in my cabin and I’ll keep a close eye on him, like I expect you three to do with Scott once he is free of his new accommodations.” Derek offers.

“That barely seems like a punishment.” Isaac sneers.

Derek arches a brow.

“Oh, trust me, Stiles will be punished.” He says, eyes flickering towards Stiles as he gulps audibly, his smell equal parts terrified and aroused. “As I see fit, of course. I am still captain of this ship, Isaac.”

Isaac pouts.

“Derek, excuse my straightforwardness, but we are only concerned that your judgment might be a bit clouded due to an emotional connection with mister Stilinski –”

“Sexual.” Derek and Stiles both voice their protests at the preposterous term simultaneously.

Erica rolls her eyes. “Let the princesses be in denial, Boyd.” She pats his shoulder, like she pities them. “Move to the part where we think Derek is an idiot who doesn’t learn from his past mistakes.”

“I guess you already did that.” Boyd notes.

“We wouldn’t have time for your sugar coating, anyway.” Erica shrugs.

Derek clears his throat. “Although I am greatly touched by such profound concern, not so much by your painfully lack of respect for your alpha, my decision is final.”

“Hum, before my punishment comes into effect, I really need to speak with Scott.” Stiles says, awkwardly fidgeting with his fingers in a slight adorable fashion.

Isaac, Boyd and Erica regard him with ‘you should lock him in jail and leave him there’ looks.

“Even prisoners have a right to a –” Derek requests Stiles for some help on the matter, since he is consonant of earthen laws, being the sheriff’s son and all.

“A phone call.” Stiles offers promptly.

Derek nods. “See, where would our pirate honor be if we didn’t allow our self proclaimed prisoners some basic rights?” He tells his betas, who regard him with completely done looks. “Now, go along Stiles, before I change my mind. And you three go do something useful, I am in need of some rest.”

Stiles hurries out of the cabin, voicing a quick _thank you_.

His betas are a bit slower, remembering to gaze their disapproval upon Derek before leaving his quarters, Derek sighing deeply as the door shuts off.

He takes off his boots and sheds off the remainder of his clothing, lying down on his bed, soft mattress welcoming his completely bare frame, thinking about the day’s events. Perhaps his pack was right, perhaps Derek his letting this thing with Stiles, whatever its nature, cloud his better judgment, leading him down a before threaded path which held nothing but misery and pain.

Laura would surely smack him in the head for his stupidity.

Of course, the fact that Stiles chose to draw his weapon and shoot the Cazares, his ticket back home, bugged him to no avail. The vessel would not have parted without Derek, so he would have gotten the chance to save Scott as well. Why he chose to help him made no sense, held no benefit and helped him in no tangible way.

It only could harm him.

Derek puts an end to that particular trail of thought, realizing nothing good could possibly come out of it, taking nonetheless the decision to present Stiles with more than a simple punishment.

He owned him at least that for saving him of eternal incarceration, despite what his original plans might’ve been.

Without Stiles, Derek would be drenched in wolfsbane inside a Metropolitan detention center, electricity coursing through his body, keeping him restrained, instead of his skin being caressed by rich silk sheets, still king of his own vessel, close as he never was before of finally finding his great uncle’s treasure. 


	7. Chapter 7

“Bilinski, what are you doing here?”Finstock questions, a tentacle barring Stiles’ way.

Stiles ducks down, evading the squishy member. “I’m just visiting Scott, no biggy.” He informs, darting forward and dodging a damp tentacle slap. “And rest assured, Derek –”

“Watch it, Bilinski! I don’t care if you two are shagging, it’s Captain Hale or Sir to you.” Finstock tells him, waving his gelatinous member in the air.

“– _Captain_ Hale gifted me with his permission. Though, if you doubt my word, you’re free to discuss this matter with him.”

“Given your recent misbehavior I will indeed speak of this matter with Captain Hale, instantly.” Finstock says, departing the room and leaving behind loud footsteps that echo throughout the hall.

 “You’re leaving two prisoners, one of which is free of chains and can roam freely around the ship, unguarded?” Stiles asks, his question met with silence, rubbing a hand over his features and shaking his head. “What a dumbass.” He concludes.

Looking around, Stiles decides to begin his search for Scott, his eyes wandering across crates containing food and varied supplies randomly displayed across the storage space, stacked upon each other like a Lego tower. In the deepest end of the room there is a steel cage, rust creeping in the once glimmering metal bars, the dirt and dust covering the cage floor sprinkle the wooden boards nearby and a bed made of hay houses his best friend, currently lying down with closed eyes.

“Hitting the hay?” Stiles asks, a smile tugging at his lips.

Scott opens his eyes, lazily turning his head to the side and meeting Stiles’ gaze. “You never get tired of that joke, do you?” He asks with a certain fondness to his tone.

Stiles shrugs. “How could I? It’s a classic. Besides, sarcasm and humor have always been my best weapons against precarious and dangerous situations.” He recalls, remembering all those times they had been buster by the Sheriff and Melissa. “Which reminds me, given how I faced actual life threatening danger today, I should probably come up with a different word for the ‘ah, my dad is going to ground me for a week’ kind of danger.”

“We could call it ‘parental hazard’.” Scott offers. “And we both know your arsenal is composed of infinite more weapons other than mere sarcasm.”

“Scott, you can only carry infinite amount of weapons in remarkable video games. You can’t do that in real life. Where would I put them all?” Stiles asks, showing Scott just how little space his tiny pirate attire pockets’ have. “And never underestimate the power of sarcasm.”

“I would never.” Scott laughs.

“But there has been enough rambling about my hilarious and incredibly well crafted wit.” Stiles decides and Scott rolls his eyes dramatically. “What the hell were you thinking?” He demands, hands moving around spastically.

“What was why thinking? What were _you_ thinking!?” Scott questions in return.

“I was trying to save you!” Stiles exclaims, throwing his arms in the air with exasperation.

“I was trying to save _you_!” Scott echoes.

“What?” Stiles asks, confused. “Save me from what, exactly?” He demands.

“Derek.” Scott utters out like it’s obvious. “I’ve seen the rope marks he leaves on your skin, the grim bruises along your neck. He hurts you.” He elaborates under Stiles’ deadly stare, repulsed by even the idea of someone hurting Stiles.

Laughter escapes Stiles’ lips, shocked by Scott’s words, earning a bewildered look from Scott.

“I appreciate your worries, buddy, I really do. Yet, they are thankfully unfounded. Derek hasn’t forced me to do anything against my own volition.” Stiles states, shrugging. “I simply seem to enjoy rough sex.”

A different kind of nausea downs on Scott as he grimaces.

“I guess that’s enough sharing.” Stiles concludes with a chuckle. “And I was hoping to discuss every detail of our sexual intercourse.”

Scott fake barfs.

“Not gonna happen.” He says, a smile tugging on his lips nonetheless. “Although I’m happy for you, I guess. By the way, what were you trying to save me from?” Scott asks.

Stiles fidgets a little before answering. “Well, it’s kind of my fault we ended up prisoners on this ship. I mean, things could be worse and it’s a lesser work load than back on Earth. Home sweet home, huh? But you must miss your mom and, well, being kidnapped is never pleasant.”

“I do miss my mom.” Scott acknowledges. “A lot, actually, and she must be worrying sick about both of us and will probably kill me herself when I come back. But you certainly miss your dad as well.”

Stiles nods. He does miss him deeply. Even thinking about what his old man must’ve went through upon realizing Stiles just didn’t merely snuck out of the house in the middle of the night like so many nights before again, what he must be going through right now wondering what was of his only son, leaves an ache in Stiles heart and wakes a sour taste below his tongue.

“And you didn’t drag me to the ship. It’s my own fault I’m here. Also, I’ve heard whispers we are in search of a great treasure and I might not express such excitement for wild adventures and dangerous quests as enthusiastically as you might, I’m still enjoying this trip quite a lot. Besides, I’ve noticed Derek’s ruthless pirate persona is a facade to his crew and apparently to ‘prisoners’ as well so you’ve certainly talked to him about our situation and we’re going back home afterwards, right?” Scott shrugs, like there is no doubt about such matter.

“Right...”

 

* * *

 

Stiles steps into the bathing room, a towel hanging precariously around his waist, offering a slight peek of his hip bones.

Turning sideways, he finds Derek inspecting his frame, hungry dark eyes following a patch of dark hair trailing down Stiles’ belly button and finding refuge after an arduous journey over dotted pale skin under soft cotton fabric. Derek’s stance looks feral, shoulders hunched down, knees flexed and stalking forward like a wild animal ready to hunt down his prey.

Stiles’ can’t help his eyes from wandering along Derek’s naked body, pale muscled skin uncovered for Stiles to admire, for his eyes to bask in its glory, in broad shoulders and solid rock abs, humongous arms and brawny legs.

“Dispose of your towel.” Derek tells him, pointing towards the tiled floor.

“Pretty peculiar place you’ve chosen for a gruesome punishment.” Stiles notes, loosing the hold of the towel around his waist, the soft fabric sliding along his legs and reaching the floor in a bundle.

“Your punishment will take place later tonight.” Derek informs and Stiles blinks in confusion.

“You’ve reserved the bathing room and placed Finstock guarding its entrance on a whim?” Stiles asks, chuckling.

Derek arches a brow. “I could.” He says, a smirk dawning in his lips. “I’m the captain, after all. I can do whatever I damn well please.”

Stiles laughs, shaking his head. “I’ve no doubt you could, although you shall admit the timing of such action denotes an ulterior motive.”

Derek ponders for a little while. “I guess you’re right, the timing is a little suspicious. See it as a reward of sorts, if you wish.” He decides with a shrug.

“Why?” Stiles questions, feeling unsure.

“You know why.” Derek answers. “Your actions at the docks could’ve led you to more dire consequences and although one could speculate you were ensuring your own safety and that of your friend, we both know leaving me to rot would’ve better served your original intent. You surely are cleaver enough to fool the entire ship for an adequate amount of until the Metropolis PD took care of them.”

“You take me in too higher consideration.” Stiles tells him. “And a ‘thank you’ would suffice.” He challenges with a grin.

“Oh, but where would be the pleasure in that?” Derek asks with a smirk, smug as fucking ever. “Hands against the wall.” He orders with a wave.

“Bossy as ever.” Stiles chuckles, placing both palms against the cold surface of the tiles.

Derek’s fingers graze over the cheeks of Stiles’ bottom, tilting his ass slightly up and trailing a hand up his back, encouraging Stiles to lean along the tiled wall, a shudder shaking his body when Stiles’ forehead meets cold blue tiles.

 “I know you like it when I boss you around.” Derek whispers into his ear and Stiles feels the hair surrounding his ears prickle, feels the press of Derek’s body along his own and the half hard length of Derek’ cock pressing into his ass as Derek nibbles at his ear lobe.

Stiles lets out a soft whine, eyes fluttering shut and head leaning back.

Derek sprinkles kisses along Stiles’ exposed neck, sliding a hand down his side and closing a fist around Stiles’ already hard cock, sinking sharp teeth in his collar bone.

“Fuck, Derek.” Stiles mutters, the initial hint of pain slowly subsiding as Derek starts stroking his cock with quick pulls and tugs, twisting his hold roughly from time to time and swiping the sting of pointed teeth with soft wet licks of tongue.

Stiles rests his head against an arm, hand sliding along droplets stained blue tiles as he fights to keep an already quavering balance.

“God, Stiles, you’re almost cumming already, aren’t you?” Derek asks, hoarse.

“Fuck you.” Stiles is able to utter, breathless and feeling his release approaching.

A low pitch yelp erupts from Stiles’ throat as a jet of ice cold water hits him, Derek’s hands the only thing keeping him from jumping the hell out of dodge, stiffening his muscles and killing both his erection and his coming release.

“Fuck, Derek!” Stiles shouts with a entirely different sentiment than before. “I thought this was a reward, you bastard!” He continues.

“There you go.” Derek says with amusement in his tone as water turns warmer against Stiles’ skins, washing over his body rather nicely and taking any complaints Stiles was voicing down the drain.

The stream of water subsides and Stiles silently morns its absence, following Derek’s hand as he grabs a bottle of liquid soap and squirts its gelatinous content into his palm, rubbing both his hands together and petting Stiles’ sides quite satisfactorily .

Stiles hums happily as Derek’s hands massage his body, Derek’s fingers relaxing Stiles’ muscles with expertise and Stiles’ cock grows hard once again.

Trailing his hands down, Derek softly teases the rim of Stiles’ entrance with his thumb, soap working as a lubricant of sorts, forcing a moan out of Stiles, his legs moving further apart as invitation for Derek to push in deeper.

“Fuck, Stiles.” Derek groans through a lengthy breath, wasting no time pushing his finger deeper inside, Stiles’ dick twitching at the initial intrusion, Stiles’ forehead lolling along the tiled wall as the faint hint of pain gives place to a warm pleasure coiling in his belly. “You love this, don’t you?” Derek asks, voice rough and throaty, his hands grazing through Stiles’ jaw and pulling his head back for a kiss, wet and sloppy and so perfect as Derek’s fingers move inside him with relentlessly.

“Faster.” Stiles urges as a shuddered groan is pulled out of him, Derek’s finger hitting just the right spot.

Derek adds a second finger and starts fucking into Stiles’ with a bigger sense of urgency, movements turning harsher and more frantic with each of Stiles’ moans until they resemble a recital without a proper beginning or an end to each chord. “Like this?” Derek asks, breathless and rough, capturing Stiles’ bottom lip between his teeth.

Stiles just moans and pants into Derek’s open mouth, their lips ghosting against each other and their breaths, hot and frenetic, mixing into one.

And just when Stiles is seconds away from begging Derek to touch him, just touch him, _please_ , the douche dares to pull his fingers away.

“Hey, don’t stop. No one said you could stop!” Stiles complains, trying to regain his breath, rocking back his hips shamelessly.

Derek chuckles. “Be patient.” He coos with a small tap to Stiles’ ass, smug.

With the turn of a faucet, hot water pours down over Stiles, washing the soap from his body and spiraling dirt down the drain.

Stiles rests his forehead against the tiles, powerless against the way steaming water magically seems to relax his muscles, nothing like the ice cold water typically traveling the pipes of earth, always leaving him a bit cranky, like most earthen citizens in the first early morning hours, and his muscles contrite.

He has no idea what is Jackson’s excuse for crankiness.

He can actually afford hot water.

Derek turns the faucet back off, peppering kisses down Stiles’ spine, soft lips and the faint tease of sharp teeth sending shudders throughout pale skin. Dropping on his knees with a splash, Derek digs his fingers into the cheeks of Stiles’ ass, licking the rim of his hole and sending pleasurable sparks up his spine.

“Oh, fuck, Derek! Don’t stop!” Stiles pleads.

Derek chuckles and how he manages to sound smug seconds before spreading Stiles’ cheeks further apart and stuffing his face in Stiles’ ass, tongue licking greedily at his hole and pushing inside with voracious appetite will forever puzzle Stiles.

He forces his legs further apart until his muscles ache and his legs tremble, pushing his hips backwards to allow more of Derek’s tongue inside him, fucking him raw. He has lost count of just how many moans, pleading and ravished, Derek’s tongue has pulled out of him.

“Fuck, Stiles, you taste so good.” Derek utters, ferocious and sounding as raw as Stiles himself feels, making him rock his waist forward, throbbing dick demanding for release.

“Touch me, Derek. C’mon, I need to come.” Stiles begs, rutting his dick against the wall.

Derek growls, low and guttural, a fist closing around Stiles’ cock as Derek stands back up and gives one, two, three short tugs before Stiles cums in the most intense release he has ever experienced, Derek guiding him through his orgasm and gently nibbling at his earlobe.

When the last spurt of spunk is squeezed out of his cock, Stiles lets his forehead fall against the tiles sleepily, Derek’s strong arms keeping him up in his lazy afterglow.

“Don’t fall asleep just yet, Stiles, there’s still the small matter of your punishment to attend to.” Derek reminds with a soft peck against Stiles’ neck, petting at his sides.

“Is it a sexy punishment?” Stiles asks with a hopeful purr.

Derek chuckles. “Is there any other kind?” He asks with a small nibble.

“Then count me in.” Stiles decides, sliding with Derek into the wet tiled floor and staying there, surrounded by Derek’s arms and warmth for a blissful yet fleeting moment.  


	8. Chapter 8

“Tell me if this hurts.” Derek asks, tying the length of rope around Stiles’ wrist in a perfect knot and checking if it ain’t loose.

“Don’t worry, I’ve always been known to spoke my mind.” Stiles assures.

“Oh, I’ve noticed.” Derek smirks, fingers trailing down the length of Stiles’ arm, a gentle spark greeting his fingertips, moving to caress Stiles’ chin and free Stiles’ lip from between the mauling of his own teeth. “Remember, if this feels like too much, all you need to do is tell me, understood?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, both exasperated and amused. “Geez, Derek, you would suck as a real pirate.”

Derek crooks an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yup, In fact, I can imagine you in the field of battle asking your enemies if they are okay with you killing them.” Stiles says and clears his throat. “If my sword seems too sharp against your skin, just let me know. I would hate for this to cause you –” He blabbers on, voice gruff.

Derek grunts and shuts Stiles up with a rough kiss, nibbling at his bottom lip before pulling back. “I made you a question.” He says, commanding.

“Yes, I will tell you if this feels like too much.” Stiles whispers and Derek feels Stiles’ fresh breath gently brush over his lips like a caress, half lidded honey brown eyes looking at him in wonder.

Derek grazes his teeth along Stiles’ jaw, feeling Stiles’ body shuddering under him, and lightly sinks his teeth in Stiles’ throat. A moan erupts from Stiles’ throat, body arching up and meeting Derek’s touch, arms pulling at the ropes, and the scent of arousal hits his nose like a train wreck, Stiles’ dick twitching against Derek’s leg, hips thrusting lightly along his length.

Derek pulls away before he gives in and bites deeper, harder, swiping the lunar mark left by his teeth with gentle swabs of his tongue.

“Fuck, Derek.” Stiles breathes out, body relaxing back against the sheets.

“I’m only starting.” Derek warns him, smug nonetheless.

“Oh, yeah, no, awesome, this will go along nicely then, I can feel it. Please, continue.” Stiles breathes out, anxiety and anticipation flooding his every spore as he swallows.

“I’m planning to.” Derek smirks, leaving Stiles’ throat with a quick kiss and sitting back down on his knees and Stiles’ dark eyes follow him curiously.

Derek lets his spit fall on Stiles’ cock, spreading it along Stiles’ length and never leaving his gaze. “Oh, fuck, Derek.” Stiles grunts, eyes closing shut and throwing his head back.

Derek feels him harden in his palm, desire seeping from Stiles like catnip, inciting Derek’s fist to move faster, to stroke him harder, the sound of skin moving against skin mixing with frantic pants and thundering heartbeats.

“I’m gonna cum.” Stiles warns and Derek can smell it, can feel Stiles’ body tensing below him, anticipating release. He feels his own vision blurring on the edges, breath heaving, heady and dizzy from Stiles’ intoxicating scent.

It almost pains him to let go, to see Stiles’ waist thrusting upwards at the loss of friction, wrists pulling against the ropes as triskelion poles remain unshaken by the pull. A whimper falls off of Stiles’ lips, shaken and broken as frustration mixes with arousal and the salty scent of pre cum.

Almost.

“You’re such an asshole.” Stiles tells him, blinking tears away from his eyes.

Derek kneels down, trailing the length of Stiles’ cock with his tongue, keeping his legs quiet and feeling Stiles’ pushing his waist upwards to no avail while he licking the head of Stiles’ cock clean of pre cum. “I’m not hearing any actual protests.” He says, peering up at him as his lips ghost over Stiles’ dick teasingly.

“Then I’m happy to inform you your hearing abilities remain intact.” Stiles mutters.

“Good to know you retain your sarcasm under the influence of sexual frustration.” Derek says, taking Stiles’ cock into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck.” Stiles moans. “And you shouldn’t be able to sound so smug while giving me a blow job. It’s not fair.” Stiles complains, relaxing as Derek slowly traces the length of his cock from top back to bottom. “You’re not done torturing me, are you?” He asks, words coming out with a soft exhale.

“No.” Derek answers, pulling back and taking Stiles’ dick in his hand, setting an unforgiving pace that has Stiles meeting his fist with every stroke in no time. “Let’s see how long you can keep this up without begging me to cum.”

“I know what this is doing to you.” Stiles says between small moans that build up with each stroke, a devilish glint to his eyes. “Let’s see how long _you_ can keep this up.” Stiles finishes just as Derek fastens his pace and reduces him to a moaning, panting mess, writhing all over the sheets and tugging at the ropes.

“It will be interesting to see who caves in first.” Derek challenges, engulfing Stiles’ cock between his lips and watching the length of Stiles’ dick disappear into his mouth, chocking around it.

“Oh, fuck, Derek. Yeah, just like that. ” Stiles groans, thrusting his hips up and fucking into Derek’s mouth, who moans in delight with the taste of Stiles’ cock and pre cum, sensing an orgasm previously frustrated building up again, making him hard and hold his breath as long as he can, not wanting to part with such an erotic and intoxicating scent, almost like a drug.

When he leaves Stiles’ cock, wet with saliva and flushed red, hot blood pumping through his veins, Derek takes him in his hand and strokes with rough and quick pulls.

“I’m gonna cum.” Stiles breathes out again, like a broken plead.

Derek drags his palm over Stiles’ cock, excruciatingly slow, enough for Stiles’ moan to linger in his throat, yet only scanting at his blissful release.

“No!” Stiles whimpers, something resembling a growl following the frustrated movement of his waist. “C’mon, Derek, how long will you keep this up?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Derek smirks, rubbing a hand through Stiles’ ball and leaving his cock with a shallow kiss to tip of its head and standing up. “I think we are done.” He says, picking a book from the bookcase and sitting at his desk.

“Ah, freaking ah.” Stiles shouts, though Derek only opens the book on a random page to which he gives his total attention. “You are not serious, are you?” He asks, pulling at the ropes. “You are reading it upside down, jerkass!”

Oh, right.

Derek turns the book in his hands, peering over the page. “A person with as much wit as yourself can surely find a way out of such a predicament.”

A dangerous grin draws itself on Stiles’ lips, washing the anger away. “Alright.” He nods, closing his eyes.

Derek looks at him curiously, lifting a brow.

A moan escapes Stiles’ lips as he tilts his hips up, arousal tickling Derek’s nose before it burns its way into his nostrils. “What are you doing?” Derek asks, voice hoarse, his blood burning in his veins and his fingers sparking with the desire to feel Stiles’ skin against his own.

“Thinking of you.” Stiles says, fluttering his eyelashes and rubbing his ass against the silk sheets, deeper and more genuine moan erupting from between his lips. “Of all the times you’ve fucked me against this mattress.”

And before he can think about it, the hallow thud of the book against mahogany wood echoes throughout the room and Derek lands on top of Stiles, bed rattling slightly beneath his weight, his vision turning a vicious shade of blood red as he claims Stiles’ mouth with his own, a yelp of surprise turning into a content moan.

Derek fists Stiles’ cock, stroking it mercilessly.

“Oh, fuck, that’s hurting a little.” Stiles utters out against Derek’s lips.

“Do you want me to slow down?” Derek whispers, his voice rough and shallow, tracing Stiles’ throat with a claw and bristling the skin below.

“No.” Stiles whispers, almost pained, between hot and frantic breathing.

A drop of sweat catches Derek’s eye, slipping from Stiles’ forehead down his cheeks, slowly, trailing a glimmering path in its wake.

“Derek, I think I’m going to cum.” Stiles informs him, sounding so tired and yet his raw tone is laced with lust, thick with want and desire.

Derek drags his fingers over Stiles’ throbbing cock and circles his head with his thumb.

“Fuck, Derek.” Stiles whimpers, desperate, waist rocking up in quest for further friction, again and again and again, rutting against Derek’s palm as Stiles growls with frustration and Derek knows it’s time to end both their torture, licking the wandering droplet of sweat from Stiles’ throat and turning him around, Stiles landing on his knees, rope restrained arms stretched and aching, leaving bright red marks against pale skin and revealing black bruises. Stiles’ glistening cock is throbbing, swollen  and red and so, so beautiful, smearing the sheets below with delightful pre cum.

“Please, Derek, make me cum.” Stiles pleads and Derek takes pride in how lost he sounds.

“Are you sure?” Derek asks, a hand caressing Stiles’ behind.

“Yes, I’m sure, Derek. I swear, the next time I’m on the edge, you’ll make me fucking cum or the Gods help me, Derek, you will be the one who’ll be punished.” Stiles threatens.

Derek leans over Stiles’ body, bare cock teasing his entrance. “Does that mean you’re still up for some more fun?” He asks, biting Stiles’ ear lobe and leaning his head back.

“Fuck.” Stiles breathes out. “Make it quick, please. I’m almost dying from exhaustion and probably from sexual frustration as well. It’s going to be a thing, I swear to the Gods.”

Derek brushes his fingers across Stiles’ jaw and grabs him by the throat, gently turning his head around and kissing him, all teeth and wet sounds.

“Sure thing.” Derek promises, sliding back from over Stiles.

Derek rubs his hand over one cheek from Stiles’ ass. “But first I have a confession to make.” He reveals and Stiles’ grunts. “I have to admit I was a little disappointed when you took that gun from under your breeches.” He says, landing a slap in Stiles’ ass and waking a bright shade of pink against pale skin, Stiles’ head falling between his stretched arms as a whine escapes his throat, the salty scent of pre cum joining the erotic aroma hovering above their naked bodies.

Derek slaps Stiles’ other cheek, a strangled breath being punched out of him. “You behaved rather poorly and I think there’s time someone teaches you some manners.”

“Derek, you can keep the role play for some other time, I really –” A disgruntled groan takes the place of whatever words Stiles would spoken, a harsh sound breaking the air as a redder hand shaped mark tints Stiles’ skin.

Derek presses his cock against Stiles’ entrance and takes his dick into his fist, feeling Stiles’ cock hard, smeared with cum and so, so swollen in his palm, and strokes it roughly.

“Say you’re sorry for taking that gun.” Derek whispers unto his hear, body curved over Stiles’, pressing him against the mattress, his arms still tied to the poles, impossibly stretched out.

“I’m sorry for breaking your trust.” Stiles says in a low voice.

Stiles groans as his ass takes another blow. “Yet, you are not sorry for taking my weapon, for intending to escape.”

“That’s too hard a question to –” Stiles starts, words soon turning into a prolonged groan as Derek slaps hard already sensitive skin. “No, I’m not sorry for that and I won’t be sorry if, for whatever reason, it happens again.” He admits.

“That was the wrong answer, yet an honest one. I guess it will have to do.” Derek concludes and dips his fingers inside a small oil recipient on top his night stand, smearing the liquid along his own hard dick and pushing inside Stiles’ still stretched hole, only taking him a few thrusts of his hips and strokes of his fist to spill his cum inside Stiles’ while milking him to his last drop.

After they’re both done cumming and the afterglow blows away, Derek pulls from inside Stiles, untying the rope around both his wrists.

Stiles remains fallen in the cum tainted sheets, too exhausted to care.

Derek gets up to get a wet cloth, gently rolling Stiles on his side and brushing the cloth across his skin, cleaning him up.

“That feels nice.” Stiles purrs, a content smile tilting up his lips.

Derek plants a kiss on Stiles’ forehead. “You look nice.” He whispers, throwing the cloth to the floor and making a note to change the bed sheets the coming day.

Crawling back unto the bed, weariness finally catching up with him, Derek pulls Stiles into his arms and closing his eyes for a good night sleep.

“Derek.” Stiles says, sleepy.

“Yeah?” Derek asks, petting the back of Stiles’ head, fingers brushing along short hair.

“After we find your treasure, can you drop me and Scott back on earth?” He asks, eyes staring at some point in the wall.

“Yeah, I can.”

“Will you?” Stiles demands.

“Yes, I will.” Derek reassures, tightening his hold around Stiles, knowing he’ll eventually have to let go and he’s suddenly assaulted by an ache in his heart, a knot in his stomach, the mere thought of losing Stiles hurting more than he’d hoped.

 

* * *

 

“Why are you peering around?” Derek asks, focusing his stare on Erica, her eyes roaming through Derek’s cabin.

“Oh. Me?” Erica questions innocently. “I’m just looking for your jailbait.” She shrugs, smile widening in a sly grin.

“Stiles is my concern, not yours.” Derek tells her.

“That’s bullshit, Derek.” Erica retorts. “As long as he is aboard this ship, he’s _our_ concern.” She states, hand comprising the three betas.

Derek sighs. “I sent him with Finstock to free Scott of his private accommodations.” He gives in, knowing Erica’s right. “I’d also like to ask you to keep an eye on both Scott and Stiles.”

Erica cocks a brow. “Do I smell trouble in paradise?” She asks and Boyd bumps his elbow into hers as to shush her.

“By the terrible stench of sex filling this cabin, I would say problems are the least of their concerns.” Isaac offers, scrunching his nose in distaste. “Maybe they both just needed some rest.” He ponders.

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose while Boyd rolls his eyes and Erica’s sly grin only grows wider.

“Unless you would like to discuss my sex life in rigorous detail, we should move on to more pressing matters.”

“Please.” Boyd nods with a suffering tone and Isaac appears slightly disappointed.

“Wonderful. I shall inform you the map is complete and so, it’s time for the treasure’s location to be finally revealed.” Derek says, approaching his desk and grazing his fingers grazing over the last piece of the puzzle.

Derek can see the curve of Stiles’ back as perfectly as that very morning, lighted by an old oil lamp shading yellows and oranges unto beautiful pale skin, hunched over the most recent piece of the map and ripping the chart apart, the sound of tearing paper almost giving Derek a heart attack.

He also remembers the feel of soft skin under his fingertip as their lips touched.

“I see on ‘x’.” Isaac notes, waking Derek from his day dreams.

“That would be too simple.” Boyd says. “There is probably some kind of device to decipher the map or to pin point the treasure’s exact location.”

“I smell further searching.” Erica crosses her arms, directing Derek an unimpressed gaze.

Isaac sniffs the air. “Nope, still only sex.”

“I trust you have such a device.” Boyd quickly cuts in.

“Indeed I do.” Derek nods, pushing the small lever behind his marble bust, his stone features parting in half and revealing a glowing blue prism.

“Good hiding place, captain. That thing always gave me the creeps.” Isaac says.

“Chewing on the scenery just isn’t enough, now is it, Derek? You are totally verging on villain territory here.” Erica giggles. “That’s what you earn for taking pirate movies as gospel.”

“We could always ditch the clothes.” Derek offers, eyeing Erica’s bright red corset. “Space suits _without_ any modifications would fit us all rather nicely.”

“What is wrong with Victorian pirate attires, anyway?” Erica asks, feigning ignorance.

“That’s what I thought.” Derek states without missing the small smile tilting up the corners of Boyd’s lips.

“How does it work?” Isaac asks, eyeing the cube curiously.

“I’d rather show you.” Derek says, pulling each side of the prism. The bright blue fades into a grim shade, deep blue streaming through the recently formed opening, scribbling resembling a form of archaic Lycan written along the inner top and bottom edges of the cube.

The prism rises from Derek’s hand, casting a blue lighted net over the cabin, analyzing and processing its content and floating towards the chart resting on top of the mahogany desk, projecting a cross above a planet far too familiar to Derek or to any Lycan, although he has never set foot on its surface.

A planet named Lupus by the human invaders, yet simply addressed as _Mother_ by its inhabitants.

“He hid it right under their noses.” Boyd realizes, awed.

“Wicked.” Isaac murmurs in a wondrous tone.

“I guess theatric flare runs in the family, even after all these years. If you ever succumb to insanity, I call dibs on the clothing of your female ancestry you have hidden somewhere around this cabin. I’ll never understand how you manage to fit so much crap in here. I can barely fit my small amount of clothing items in those tiny cabinets.” Erica tells him.

“At least you have a closet.” Boyd says, dryly.

“Yeah, you use all the space in the _common_ cabinet. The rest of us have to stack our clothes beneath out beds.” Isaac complains.

“If you have any problems, you can discuss them with me.” Erica says, sharp claws sliding along each other and making a low crackling noise.

Isaac gulps.

“If you are done acting like children, I need to tell Finstock of our destiny.” Derek clears his throat and waves his hand towards the exit. “I’m not leaving you lot alone in here without some kind of adult supervision.”

The three of them roll their eyes, but do as told, Derek following them with a renewed sense of purpose and the inkling sensation he’s finally returning home.


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles hovers in the light blue sky, similar to the one depicted in old earthen paintings, if not by the bright stars seemingly an arm’s reach away.

Wearing a tight, slightly constricting space suit, he’s holding some sort of hose releasing a powerful stream of water, blasting dirt off the hull of the ship.

“I’ll never understand how this ship gets so dirty.” Scott says, floating just a few feet above, hover boots keeping him from falling into the depths of space. “We are in space, after all, there’s no dirt for thousands of miles, if not more.”

“Well, whenever the ship enters a planet, the hull is exposed to the countless micro organisms composing that foreign planet’s fauna and flora. In a regular ship, all of them would perish once the ship left the atmosphere, but in this case, given Derek’s tastes, we have to be enveloped in an artificial atmosphere before leaving its surface, or we would die, encasing all that micro organic life in a bubble, trapped, so to speak. And then it’s just a matter of nature taking its course.” Stiles explains, sliding his gaze towards Scott, his best friend looking back at him with a goofy grin. “You already knew that.”

“Yeah, I did.” Scott nods.

His tank starts making a noise akin to a dying animal, seemingly empty.

Stiles peeks through the hose and, yep, there’s nothing coming out this way. Thankfully, the hull is completely and undeniably clean. “Now we’ll have to wax the entire thing. This is going to take forever.” He pouts, shoulders slumping down.

“There are a couple of tanks left.” Scott winks.

Stiles lights up. “Are you proposing what I think you’re proposing?”

“Yep.” Scott nods with a goofy grin.

“Laser tag!” Stiles yells, hitting his hover boots’ accelerator, bolting past Scott and zapping along the hull of the ship, already unzipping the empty tank deposit when he grabs a completely full, feeling the thruster coils slightly giving in at the extra weight .  

Twirling around, Stiles hits Scott with a jet stream while he’s still equipping his weapon, stream of water sending him spinning backwards through the air.

“That’s cheating!” Scott complains, once he has regained his balance.

“All I’m hearing is loser talk!” Stiles taunts, dodging a couple of water jets with ease and zigzagging around the wooden masts.

With a frustrated grunt, Scott hurries after Stiles, only to be hit again, his moppy wet hair sticking to his forehead. Spitting out water that somehow got into his mouth, Scott blows wet strands of hair from above his eyes, looking only slightly annoyed while doing so.

“Catch me if you can!” Stiles challenges between humorous laughter, plummeting along the hull and turning around to see Scott is nowhere in sight.

“C’mon, Scott, you’re not even –” He starts, but before he can finish his sentence, an unexpected jet of water coming splashes his features.

“You were saying?” Scott asks, looking really proud of himself.

“That was really sneaky.” Stiles tells him with narrowed eyes before his mouth opens in a grin. “I like it.”

“McCall, Bilinski!” Finstock shouts. “Quit burning daylight and start waxing the hull! This isn’t a day care! And, to teach you lot a lesson, the last one getting up here will single handedly clean the ship’s hull with only a toothbrush!”

An expression of impending doom dawns on Scott’s face.

“Race you to the top!” Stiles cackles.

 

* * *

 

“Gear.” Scot asks with an open hand.

“Here.” Stiles hands him one of the many gears inside the tool box.

“Bolt.” He demands, open hand closing around the requested item.

“This is kind of boring, ain’t it?” Stiles complains, after a while, resting his head along his open palm. “Each freaking day you check all the same damn machinery.”

“I remember you being excited the first day. You kept badgering me with tons of questions about each machine, what they did and what was their contribution to the ship as a whole. By the end of the day my throat was so sore I couldn’t speak another word, even if I wanted to.” Scott reminds him. “Wrench.”

Stiles drops the wrench in Scott’s hand. “In the beginning everything was new, each machine was a discovery, each one working independently towards a common goal, akin to the ship’s crew themselves. Now it’s just a bore because I’ve seen it all before.”

“A bore or not, it’s still work that needs to be done.” Scott states, taking a glance at Stiles from the corner of his eye. “You and Derek still butting head?”

“Yeah.” Stiles admits, a bit without thinking before realizing just what Scott asked him. “Wait, no. You’re not supposed to know that. Who told you? Oh my god. Who else knows?”

Scott smiles slyly. “No one told me and, as far as I know, no one else knows. I just figured it out.”

“Yes, I’ve got that far, genius. Just how did you figure it out?” Stiles asks, puzzled.

“Stiles, I’ve known you since forever and, although revealing curiosity is a familiar trait of yours, keeping up with things that you no longer find enticing, isn’t.”

“I could be keeping you company.” Stiles tries with a shrug.

Scott hums, unconvincingly, handing the wrench back to Stiles. “Take this and clean things up.” He says. “And, since this was the last stop of my shift, I can show you around. I’m sure there are parts of this ship you have yet to see.”

“Awesome!” Stiles chirps out, throwing the wrench carelessly into the tool box, quickly swiping a cloth through the mess Scott left on the wooden floor and standing up. “What are we waiting for, then?” He asks, dragging an amused Scott behind him, before slapping his own forehead. “Why the hell am I dragging you? You are the one who knows where the hell we are going. You should be the one to lead the way!” Stiles realizes, pushing Scott forward.

Scott laughs and shakes his head. “Are you telling me what happened between you and Derek or will I have to guess?”

“You are terrible at guessing. Besides, it was nothing, really.” Stiles waves a hand, dismissing the subject.

“Okay, then.” Scott shrugs, the fact that he dropped the issue with such a minimal fuss leaving him slightly suspicious. “I guess I won’t be telling you any of the rumors getting the entire crew in a turmoil.”

“What?” Stiles exclaims, perhaps a little too loudly. “You can’t withhold information from me. And juicy information even less. How in the hell have I not heard a single word about this?” He asks , now whispering.

“I can and I will.” Scott tells him. “Sharing of information goes both ways. But I’m sure you’ll get someone else to tell you, between Erica, Isaac or Boyd. You shouldn’t worry.”

Stiles grunts. “I’m trying to avoid those three. They threatened me, can you believe it? Isaac told me that if I ever hurt Derek he would stick me in a missile compartment and fire me into the depths of space, watching through binoculars while my head explodes. Erica told me she would delight her ears while she tortured me beforehand. Boyd _reassured_ me he would make sure I had a quick, painless death.” He reveals, shivers traveling down his spine while panic creeps into his tone. “And the rest of the crew keeps sending me dirty looks No one is going to tell me anything.”

“Then I guess I’m your only source.” Scott shrugged with a smirk tilting the edge of his lips.

“Fine, I’ll tell you.” Stiles gives in, defeated. “After we returned to the ship, Derek expressed his anger for the betrayal of his trust and gratitude for ‘saving his life’, which is just a tiny bit melodramatic , in opposite, yet both totally orgasm inducing sexual activities.”

“Of which this is all I want to know about.” Scott interrupts, grimacing.

“Fair. The morning after, after I played around a bit with the jigsaw that is Peter’s treasure map, Derek sent me to free you of your metaphorical shackles and literal cage and has been avoiding me ever since.” Stiles tells him, realizing _nothing_ is exactly what he knows.

“Are you sure it has nothing to do with you stealing his gun?” Scott inquires, grimacing at the same time Stiles cackles at the double entendre. “And that came out really wrong.”

“You don’t say.” Stiles shakes his head. “And yes, I’m sure.” He nods, remembering the distant eve.

Scott scratches his chin. “Did you talked after…” He starts, making a hand motion that conveys his point exactly.

“We talk about all sorts of stuff after we dip the sauce.” Stiles says, smirking at Scott’s nauseated expression. “For example, when Derek was eleven, his dad let him hold the wheel of their space shuttle and sometimes he even got to press some of the buttons.” He remembers, the image of a toddler Derek frowning at a myriad of buttons and unsurely pressing the one his father tells him.

“That’s great, Stiles.” Scott nods with a smile. “But I mean, did you talk about anything particular that night?”

“Oh.” Stiles murmurs, making an effort to remember. “I think I asked him about dropping us off on earth after we found his great uncle times ten rumored treasure.”

Scott stays behind in their march, still. “You told me you guys had already talked about that.” He says with a smack to Stiles’ forearm.

“Sorry.” Stiles shrugs. “Didn’t want you to worry.”

Scott rolls his eyes. “Okay, so maybe has it occurred to you that maybe Derek thought you were using him?”

Stiles makes a dismissive sound. “That sounds ridiculous, man. I mean, that was kind of my idea at the start, but Derek would never avoid me because of that. I don’t even think I would be alive if Derek was mad about that.”

“After all you’ve learned about Derek, do you really think so?” Scott asks.

“Crap.” Stiles utters out between a sigh. Off course he thought Stiles had been using him, given his history with Kate. And of course he wasn’t mad. He was _hurt_. And Stiles had only himself to blame. “I better go talk to him.”

“I also think you should.” Scott nods.

Stiles looks at Scott, head tilted. “There’s not really some kind of terrifying news threatening to rattle the mighty wolf to its core, is it?”

“Nope.” Scott shakes his head.

“You’re the devil.” Stiles tells him, wrapping an arm around Scott’s shoulder.

“I’ve learned from the worst.”


	10. Chapter 10

 There’s a knock on the door.

“You can come in, Stiles.” Derek says and the door promptly opens, the smell of embarrassment quickly coloring the air.

“Fuck, Derek, if you knew it was me, you could’ve at least put a damn shirt on, those arms must constitute a violation of some constitutional law.” Stiles complains, trying to look away but failing miserably.

"Breaking constitutional laws is what I do." Derek smirks, getting up from his pushups and looking down at his own figure, covered only by a pair of leather breeches and shrugs. “Besides, I wouldn't want to miss your ridiculous rosy cheeks or your awkward ways. I’ll take making you uncomfortable over following the law any day.”

“I would laugh, but with that sleazy smile of yours, I never know if you’re playfully joking or plainly being a jerk.” Stiles remarks. 

“It's a valid debate.” Derek agrees, scratching at his belly.

Stiles grunts in exasperation, picking a shirt from the bed and throwing it at him. “Just put a fucking shirt on. I can’t focus with your abs being all arrogant and superior like that.”

Derek snorts but does just that, slipping into the cotton fabric. “Was the purpose of your visit simply to insult me, or did you had anything else in mind?”

“You’ve been ignoring me.” Stiles accuses, an inflexion of pain toning his words.

“We've been mutually avoiding each other." Derek corrects.

"Have not." Stiles debates.

"Yes we have."

"No, we haven't."

Derek refrains himself from prolonging this childish debate any further. "I haven't called for you, you haven't come by."

“You were _busy_.” Stiles insists.

“How many times did you stroll in here while I was hunched over that very desk, neck deep in paperwork and you simply picked up a book and sit by my chair?” Derek reminds him, having not realized how much he has missed those small moments.

Stiles tries to retort, but comes out empty.

“I gave you an out. You took it. I thought you were done with us, with _me_ ” and those words don’t come out without effort, after countless years of living behind a mask, but things always seem to be less hard with Stiles “so I didn’t bother calling for you. My wish was never to impose.”

“It was never my intention to use you.” Stiles is quick to offer.

“I never said –”

“You _thought_.” Stiles cuts in, his words nothing but the truth, because for Derek it made so much more sense than the alternative. “And perhaps it wasn’t without reasons. I should’ve come to you sooner, spoken of my worries about returning home, but the timing never seemed right.”

“If we’re talking about past mistakes, I shouldn’t have brought you with me. That was a pretty awful thing to do and I don’t even regret my decision, not in the slightest.”

“And I don’t regret my decision in letting you take me.” Stiles taunts him, giving a step forward, a smile playing along his lips.

“Oh, really?” Derek asks, quirking up an eyebrow and rivaling Stiles’ advances.

"Really." Stiles chuckles and shakes his head, expression serene when he faces Derek again. “I’ve missed you and I like you and I’ll be eighteen soon, free to leave earth and roam around space with you, if you’ll have me, of course. I don't want to impose either.”

"You don't." Derek assures, knitting his eyebrows together, any trace of playful charm gone from his features. “Abd don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Just you wait.” Stiles tells him, in tone of a challenge, closing the distance between them and giving Derek a certain yet feeble kiss, the feeling of Stiles’ lips against his own fleeting, leading Derek to chase after them when they part, locking their mouths together and caressing Stiles’ jaw with a gentle hand.

“I’ve missed you too.” Derek confides, kissing Stiles’ forehead, dragging his lips through Stiles' temple and kissing both his eyelids, locking their eyes together as he removes each piece of Stiles’ clothing, fingers ghosting over soft skin while bundles of fabric fall haphazardly on the floor. “Is this okay?” Derek asks, their lips slightly brushing, when Stiles is left bare in the middle of his cabin.

“Yes.” Stiles offers with a timid smile.

And that single, truthful word is all Derek needs, perhaps even forever.

“Unclothe me.” Derek asks of Stiles.

Stiles eyes widen a bit in surprise but he does as he’s told, removing the cotton shirt Derek has just slide on, the knuckles of his fingers brushing along Derek’s abdomen, bristling the hairs in the back of his neck and sending small currents of electricity along his body. Ancient instincts grow nervous when he temporally loses his sight, throat bare and exposed, yet just as suddenly, Stiles is back in his line of vision, cotton shirt sliding down his arms and unto the floor, forgotten.

Stiles then removes Derek's breeches, freeing his cock and falling unto his knees as he does so.

As much as the sight of Stiles in his knees for him, about to take his cock in that beautiful, gorgeous and sinful mouth of his, fills him with delight, Derek offers Stiles a hand that he regards with some curiosity and slight confusion.

“Let me.” Derek asks and Stiles nods, accepting the open palm and standing up.

Derek places a chaste kiss in Stiles’ lips, trying to reacquaint with their flavor, the kiss deepening as Derek pushes his tongue inside, senses drowning in Stiles, rediscovering past sensations, past smells and tastes and textures. He maneuvers the younger man towards the bed and pushes Stiles unto it, who lands in the soft mattress with a huff, heartbeat speeding up when Derek drops on his knees, spreading Stiles’ legs and sliding between them, keeping his eyes fixed on Stiles’, pupils dilated and mouth hanging open with anticipation, tongue swiping nervously at his lips.

Derek smirks and starts kissing Stiles’ inner thigh, the tip of his tongue teasing sensitive flesh with each press of lips as Derek strokes Stiles' half hard cock with a loose and kind of sloppy grip that seems to be driving Stiles’ crazy, unable to stay still, trying to get just a bit more friction.

“C’mon Derek, stop being such a tease.” Stiles grunts, frustration exhaling out of every pore.

Derek grips his hold and turns his wrist, a movement that has Stiles’ hips thrusting forward as a whimper falls off Stiles’ swollen lips, like a broken plead.

“Like this?” Derek asks, lips ghosting over Stiles' hard cock.

“Please, Derek –”

Derek cups Stiles balls in one hand, cutting off his words, and licks Stiles’ cock from the base of its balls and along the length of its shaft until he finally closes his lips around the head and bobs, tongue teasing at first before Derek dives in, taking it all in.

“Fuck.” Stiles moans, hand sliding through Derek’s hair and hips thrusting forward.

Derek grins, leaving Stiles’ cock glistening with dribble and turning him into an incoherent mess of moans and whimpers as he chokes around it. The bitter taste of pre cum tickles Derek’s taste buds, sending shivers down his spine and making his dick grow harder, relishing in the taste of how close to release he has gotten Stiles, closing his fist around the base of Stiles’ cock and stroking, tight and fast and with a rhythm rivaled by Stiles' thrusts.

“Oh, fuck, Derek, I’m gonna cum.” Stiles warns, voice high and frantic, hand fisting Derek's dark locks while the other grips the edge of the bed.

Derek leaves his dick with a pop and Stiles releases a small desperate whimper from the back of his throat. His complaints are soon silenced when Derek starts licking at his balls, tasting deliciously scented skin as small pubic hairs brush against his stubbled cheek. “Come for me, Stiles.” He whispers, taking one of Stiles' balls into his mouth and bobbing around it, taking Stiles even more dangerously close to the edge and sending him over with a tight turn of his fist, the scent of cum filling the room, spilling into Derek’s fist and unto his cheek, making his nostrils flare and his own waist thrust forward, hard cock rutting against Stiles’ leg.

A pull to his shoulders has him sitting in Stiles' lap as Stiles licks his own cum from Derek’s cheek, leaving him feeling raw and aroused and dirty and in no way displeased with any of it. “Fuck.” Derek mutters, fingers tangling in Stiles’ hair and pulling him away, chasing the taste of cum from the other man’s mouth with a sloppy kiss of tangled tongues and leading Stiles' eagerly opened mouth and obscene swollen lips towards Derek’s knuckles, covered in the pearly liquid that Stiles cleans until the very last drop. Derek smiles, petting his nape. “Good boy.” He praises, kissing Stiles' temple. 

"Glad you enjoyed." Stiles whispers in his ear. "Now I want you to fuck me." He tells Derek, pushing him unto the sheets with a devious smile.

Derek laughs freely, taking Stiles into his arms.


	11. Chapter 11

“You seem tense.” Stiles points out, setting _The Universes Greatest Destinies_ down on the bed and standing up, walking towards Derek, who’s sitting behind his desk with such a deep frown Stiles fears they’ll get stuck like that.

Derek looks up from whatever is troubling him, eyes tired. “It’s nothing.”

“Liar.” Stiles accuses, coming to a halt behind Derek’s chair and sliding his arms down the captain’s tense shoulders, teasing his Pecs with just the tip of his fingers. “Something is on your mind and it has nothing to do with” Stiles squints at the papers crowding Derek’s desk “chart logs and space miles. You need to relax. Relaxing always helps me speak whenever something is troubling me.”

“I never realized you’d need any help with that.” Derek taunts, though he offers no objection when Stiles slides his hands under Derek’s shirt and starts massaging his shoulders. He simply rests his hands on top of his knees and lets Stiles work his magic, humming and melting into the touch under Stiles’ expert fingers.

Stiles sees that as a small victory.

So he starts unbuttoning Derek’s undershirt one button at a time, loosening its grip on Derek’s body and exposing broad shoulders and pale skin. He slides the sleeves off Derek’s arms, left hanging by the sides of the chair, and gets to work, his fingers touching strong muscles and pressing unto tension points, kneading out knots lodged beneath warm skin.

“Feeling better?” Stiles whispers beside Derek’s ear.

Derek hums his retort, the sound turning into a groan when Stiles bites his earlobe, his hand jerking up and his fingers tangling in Stiles’ grown out hair, pulling him closer.

“Fuck, Stiles.” He grunts.

“So, are you ready to tell me about what is bothering you?” Stiles asks, corners of his lips bowed upwards.

Derek chuckles and the sound is deep and heavy in his throat. “So this was all an elaborate plan for me to ‘fess up’?”

“No, this was just me being nice and getting you to relax.” Stiles says, spinning the chair around so Derek is facing him and there’s a very evident bulge beneath his leather breeches. Stiles smirks, already anticipating how easy this is going to be and sits on Derek’s lap, his eyes regarding Stiles curiously. “Though some form of persuasion can be arranged.” He concludes, dragging his teeth along Derek’s jaw and squeezing one of Derek’s nipples between his fingers.

Derek grunts, breathe hitching and hands moving to grasp unto Stiles’ thighs, thumbs brushing along the cheeks of his ass and pressing him closer and along his groin, mouth hungrily looking for Stiles’ lips.

Stiles smashes his finger against Derek’s lips and shakes his head. “Not until you fess up.” He says with a smirk.

Derek raises his brows. “So that’s how it’s going to be?” He asks, tone not entirely convinced Stiles will have the strength of mind to go through with it.

“Yup.” Stiles nods, pulling Derek’s nipples not so gently and watching him curse under his breath, tightening his grip on Stiles’ ass and pressing him forward to meet Derek’s thrust to, unfortunately for him, no avail, his strength restrained by the sleeves left unbuttoned.

“Stiles, I will punish you for this.” Derek threatens.

“Not until I let you.” Stiles tells him, hand feeling Derek’s erection beneath the shiny black leather fabric of his breeches, pressing against the push of his waist, moving his hand in sync with Derek’s thrusts and mouthing at his pulse point, tongue feeling the thick prickle of stubble against its wet surface.

A grunt erupts from Derek’s throat when a frustrated thrust earns his dick only the friction of the thin air between them, Stiles’ hand covering his mouth when he tries to find his lips.

“So, what do you say?” Stiles asks.

Derek arches a brow and Stiles uncovers his mouth. “You’re the worse.”

Stiles shrugs. “I learned from the best.” He says with a confident smile playing around his lips.

Derek tilts his head, considering, and smirks. “Yeah, I guess you have, which in your case I would be very afraid with what I’ll do to you in return.”

“And I’ll certainly enjoy it, but all in due time.” Stiles pats Derek’s chest, lifting his arm and leaving kisses along his forearm, giving tiny nibbles to prickling skin.

“Fuck.” Derek moans, hand cupping Stiles’ nape and pressing him closer.

“Just tell me what is bugging and you can have me.” Stiles sing songs, licking the hair of Derek’s armpit.

Derek’s nostrils flare, head jerking back. “Right now? You.” He groans.

“What about before I began persuading you?”

“I think you mean frustrating.”

“I can do worse.” Stiles says, slipping his hand beneath the leather fabric and groping Derek’s length. “I seem to have learned a great frustration enhancement technique.”

Derek grunts, looking down. “Kate.”

Stiles sits back in Derek’s lap, caught completely by surprise. He had heard the name before and, among a ‘I had a girlfriend once’ whispered one night, after Stiles had talked a bit about previous crushes on Derek’s request, the heart wrenching ‘It’s my fault my family’s dead’ when Stiles once talked about his mom, of home, and a final ‘Her name was Kate Argent’, all coupled with what he knows about the fire at the Hale’s shuttle and who the Argents were, Stiles had a really good idea of what she had done.

Well, that sure as hell was a way to kill the mood.

“What about her?” He asks.

And Derek really looks like he rather do anything else than talk about this and perhaps now Stiles is feeling a little bit guilty.

Okay, _a lot_.

“Forget it.” Says Stiles all of a sudden, despite his burning curiosity. “I shouldn’t have pushed you into telling me anything. I’m sorry.”

Derek sighs, rubbing his palms along Stiles’ thighs. “You’re going to find out about it either way, so I might tell you now. At least I’ll have an excuse to punish you later on.” He smirks.

Stiles chuckles. “That you’ll have.” He agrees with a tilt of his head, slightly smacking Derek’s forearm. “C’mon, hurry up, I’m waiting.” Stiles tells him, because he really _is_ fuckingcurious.

“If you let me, I will.” Derek tells him, caressing his thighs as if to comfort Stiles. “So, the stunt we pulled in Kerwan was bound to attract Argent’s curiosity. I’m also sure they would be curious about you. Who you are and why you were with me. By now they must know about the reward your father is willing to give to anyone who brings you back home.”

“What?” Stiles cuts in. That earthen police wouldn’t have the funds to finance a space pursuit and being the son of the sheriff might come with certain privileges, but a luxurious life wasn’t one of them. “My dad doesn’t have that kind of money.”

“And you are telling me he wouldn’t find a way?” Derek asks, eyebrow shooting up.

 Stiles sighs, leaning his body closer to Derek’s chest, Derek’s arms surrounding him and pulling him even closer, Derek’s heat warming him, kind of like a safety blanket. “You can keep going.” Stiles tells him, forehead resting on Derek’s shoulder.

“Kate would do anything for money; even throw her own family under the bus. The only reason she even let us roam around is because I promised her a small part of my uncle’s fortune.” Derek reveals.

“She’s planning on stealing the treasure. All of it.” Stiles deduces, piecing the puzzle together.

“That’s my guess.” Derek says and then he _smirks_.

“You have something up your sleeve.”

“I have nothing up my sleeve. I do like to know my opponent’s hand and there’s happens to be an Argent checkpoint on our way to Lupus” he sneers at the human given name “and heading there would be reckless, even for me. She’ll know it pertains to the treasure.”

“You are forcing her to show her game.” Stiles understands.

Derek slides a hand below Stiles’ neck and pulls him into a kiss, heated and languid, tongue insistent and teeth punishing. “You’re so smart and I almost pity having to punish you now.” Says Derek, pushing two oil slicked fingers inside him, his breathe catching at the intrusion, cock twitching in Derek’s lap.

“ _Fuck_.” Stiles mutters, fingers digging in Derek’s broad shoulders.

“Almost.” Derek says, amused as he captures Stiles’ lips between his teeth, fingers fucking his hole with little mercy. “I’m still deciding if I’ll let you cum today.” He muses, kissing his mouth as a moan erupts from Stiles’ lips, pulled out of him by a pair of ravishing fingers.

“Please, Derek, I won’t hold much longer.” Stiles pleads, rutting frantically along Derek’s leg.

Derek grips Stiles’ dick in his fist, a jolt of pain, sudden and unexpected, jerking him upright, but if possible, his dick hardens even more at the slight pain. “You will cum when and _if_ I let you cum.” Derek whispers dangerously at his ear and then his voice softens. “Remember, if you want me to stop, you only have to say.” He reminds, teeth teasing at Stiles’ earlobe.

Stiles nods. “I know.”

Derek’s fingers slowly leave his hole. “Good boy.” He says with a pat on his bum.

And then, for all of his sins, there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in, Master Finstock.” Derek says, mildly annoyed, his eyes sparkling with amusement though, as Stiles’ cheeks redden.

The door opens and Stiles sinks further down on the chair, trying to stay hidden and Derek snickers at him, the bastard. “Oh, I’m sorry for interrupting, Captain Hale.” Finstock blabbers sheepishly, and it’s the first time he has heard him sound shy.

“As long as you remain where you are, I guess there won’t be reasons for any lasting damage.” Derek points out with a tone dry as sand and a devilish smile. “I take it you interrupted us for a reason, though.”

“Oh, right.” Finstock says, taking the opportunity to collect himself, if the rustling of feet through the wooden floor is anything to go by. Poor dude. “She’s here.”

Derek’s relaxed demeanor falls, a thin line setting on his lips.

 

* * *

 

Scott and Stiles are washing the ship’s deck, the noise of crew conversations and the clanking sounds of a duel between Erica and Boyd fills the air, Isaac chanting words of encouragement at them both, all of them ignoring the top of the line space shuttle connecting with the Mighty Wolf, old and dusty by comparison.

“Stupid jerk, having a reunion behind closed doors with his unlawfully hot ex girlfriend who also happens to be a corrupt law enforcer. If I even suspect something other talking, and the non sexual kind of talking, is happening in that office, I’ll be the one doing the punishment and, trust me, it won’t be the sexual kind.” Stiles mutters under his breath.

“Don’t you trust him?” Asks Scott and he has the effrontery to sound, _gasp_ , amused.

“I trust _him_. I don’t trust her.” Stiles states matter of factly while angrily mopping the floor.

Scott chuckles and Stiles sends him a dirty look.“I’m happy you find my suffering amusing. I’ll remember to laugh next time something bad happens to you.” He mutters.

“I’m sorry, buddy, but you sound like a chick flick cliché.” Scott tells him, providing no help in soothing his now ex best friend.

The tinkling of sharp metal blades entwined in battle breaks off.

“You’re fretting too much, Stiles, she has nothing you don’t have.” Boyd offers.

Erica snickers. “Yeah, let’s ignore for the time being of what’s hanging between his legs, Stiles also happens to be missing these pretty ladies.” She provides, motioning towards her breasts. “And her boobs are even bigger than mine.”

“I think your boobs are just the right size.” Says Boyd.

A sincere smile flourishes in Erica’s lips. “That’s really sweet.”

“None of you thought Kate was a little, I don’t know, hairy?” Isaac shrugs, looking thoroughly confused.

“What do you mean, hairy?” Stiles asks.

“Hairy is someone with lots of hair.” Scott provides and Stiles’ eye twitches. “Wait, you are having a mental breakdown without even laying eyes on her?”

Stiles ignores Scott’s remark. His panic is perfectly justified.

“Does anyone else wanna say something besides the obvious?” He asks, turning to the three stooges.

“She was hairier than you.” Erica laughs.

“Hey!” Stiles complains. “I happen to have a very enviable happy trail, thank you very much. And my pubic hairs are very manly, for your information.”

Erica outright cackles.

“Stilinski, no one wants to know about your junk!” Finstock shouts, slapping the back of his head.

“But –” Stiles tries to argue, soothing the blow.

“Shut it!”

Stiles groans but does as he’s told, receiving a sympathetic look from Scott. “Don’t worry, dude, if I was bi, I would totally go for you.” He whispers.

Stiles smiles. “Thanks buddy.”

“She _is_ kind of hot, though.” Scott ponders.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “And I’m back to not liking you.” He says, picking up his mop and going to wash a part of the deck far away from his so called best friend and the musketeers of lame.

And then, the headlights of an entire fleet lock on the Mighty Wolf, which is still a stuck up and pompous name, by the way. As the entire crew stands awestruck, Stiles finds himself hurrying back towards the captain’s cabin, both the mop and his cleaning duties left behind.

When he gets there, his closed fist hovers by the door for a doubting second.

Maybe, Stiles wonders, Derek needs this time with Kate, as to provide some sort of closure and settle his demons to rest.

However, whatever Stiles’ decision was going to be, it is taken out of his hands when the shriek of chairs dragging along wooden flooring carries outside, steps approaching the cabin’s door.

Stiles quickly tries to look as inconspicuous as possible, focusing his attention on a very interesting crack in the wood paneling.

A laugh that sends chills down his spine flows out of the now open door. “It seems your new pet is a little lost. Maybe you could use one of the collars from the three other dogs you stole.”

Stiles turns around, retort at the tip of his tongue when –

“You _are_ furry.”

Her smirk only widens, fixing Stiles with a long once over. “And you are the ugliest hairless chimp I have ever laid my eyes on, but you don’t see me pointing that out.”

“Wow, apparently you’re a one punch line kind of species.” Stiles retorts.

Derek clears his throat. “Kate was leaving.”

“Yeah, I was. I really liked our chat.” She smiles. “And if you ever get tired of your pet ape, just give me a call or cross a secured boarder. Either one works.” And then she leaves, the sound of heels echoing throughout the halls in her departure.

“Wow, what a bitch.”

“You have no idea.”

“You’re aware the sky lit up like a christmas tree?” Stiles asks in a whispered voice, like it’s a big secret, the lights of the fleet surrounding them still creeping in through the window and casting it’s light along Derek’s cabin.

“Yeah, luckily, bad judgment is my only deficiency.” Derek says, dry, his smirk telling Stiles he’s enjoying this little back and forth.

“Can you enlighten me on its obscure meaning?” Stiles asks with a jab of his elbow.

“It was nothing more than a simple statement of power, a way of making it crystal clear she’s only letting me go because I’m useful and because she can.” Derek says colloquially.

“So, you were right?”

“I was right.” Derek nods.

A kind of awkward moment when neither of them says a word settles in.

Strangely, Derek is the one to break it. “I know we were in the middle of something, but right now –”

 “Oh, right. Yeah, I totally understand. I can go.”

“Or you can stay, if you want to.” Derek offers, awkwardly scratching the back of his head and actually looking kind of adorable while doing so.

Stiles smiles. “Then I think I’ll stay.” He says, stepping into the cabin and picking up the copy of _The Universe’s Greatest Destinies_ back from between the silk sheets and walks over to Derek’s chair, sitting beside him.

“What’s your favorite destiny?” Derek asks after a while of rustling papers around and reorganizing his desk, ruffling Stiles’ hair a little bit.

“The Plantae system.” Stiles offers. “My mom would’ve loved visiting such a beautiful place, this kind of multi planetary botanic garden containing the most stunning and wondrous plant life in the entire universe.”

“I could take you there someday.” Derek tells him, planting a kiss on his forehead.

Stiles would wish for nothing else. 


	12. Chapter 12

They land in a port city, the water of the peaceful ocean cradling the ship as birds squawk in the sky above.

Derek hides a smile when Stiles sighs of relief once his feet touch solid ground, his features colored a sick shade of green. “I never would’ve thought that amongst all our rocking, the ocean would leave you nauseous.” He whispers, sparing a look to his betas and Scott, already moving a few steps ahead, engrossed in their own conversation.

Stiles looks up from his leaning down position. “Maybe your bed just squeaks a lot.”

Derek ponders. “I guess that’s something to be discussed some other time. Come along, Stiles, you don’t want to get behind around here.”

Stiles snorts. “Are you telling me there are monsters?”

“What do you think?” Derek arches a brow.

Stiles rolls his eyes, though a hint of fear colors his smell and he quickly follows Derek.

Looking around, Derek sees the ruins of old buildings and the white stoned pavement that covers the ground and thinks about how this once must’ve been very a rich and healthy town. Now, the forest surrounding it has taken claim of the deserted city, green grass sprouting from lapses in the pavement, moss and colorful flowers covering building frames and tall trees emerging from roofless dwellings or random spots in the sidewalk.

It also has its own brand of beautiful, if it didn’t hide an awful truth.

That his people are gone – victims of genocide – and the only ones left are probably slaves, like his betas once were, or are imprisoned in some private collection.

A comforting hand holds his and Derek gazes to his side, finding Stiles there, smiling sadly back at him and in that look Derek knows Stiles understands.

“Wow.” Isaac murmurs.

Derek forces his eyes from Stiles and follows Isaac’s dazzled stare, noticing the almost full moon in the daylight sky.

He faintly feels its pull, calling to him in a very primal way and Derek squeezes Stiles’ hand just a little bit tighter.

“We’ll be okay, right?” Boyd asks, a bit of worry in his eyes.

“Of course we’ll be.” Derek says, trying to appear more confident than he really feels.

Stiles squeezes his hand in return.

 

| Flashback |

 

“So, by my calculations and if this book has its facts right, Luna will have a full moon in five days time. We should post pone our landing.” Stiles tells him, as if having his hand written scribbles on his face will make Derek understand the severity of the situation any more.

Derek understands plenty.

“I can’t.”

“Oh, you can’t?” Stiles asks, incredulity clear in his tone. “Alright; you leave me no choice. Let’s see.” He opens a book, flipping through its pages. “Here we are: _Their eyes change rapidly between regular coloring and supernatural shades of yellow, blue and red upon mild emotional distress, claws and fangs sometimes becoming visible in the hours closing the full moon. At its peak, restraints barely hold the subjects in their wild, beastly state…_ ” Stiles closes the book with a thud, as a revolted scent seeps from his every pore. “You guys have never been exposed to the full moon like the _subjects_ in this book. What if something happens and you all turn on each other? Or you turn on me – the human who _won’t_ heal?”

“Then don’t come.” Derek offers bluntly.

“You know that’s out of question.” Stiles states with steel resolve.

Derek looks up from his books. “I understand your worries, Stiles, I do. I have them too. Yet, giving the state of our supplies and how we can barely afford anything else, we can’t turn around and hold off this trip for five days. We just can’t. And even if we stole what we need, our route has been pretty obvious. Kate will know where we’re headed and those five days could be enough for her to find the treasure all on her own. Then, she’ll have no need for us and I’m pretty sure she’ll have no qualms disposing of us to dissipate any doubts of fraternizing with pirates, ensuring her election as the new Argent president.”

Stiles sighs. “I know. I just wish there was another less life threatening way of doing this.”

Derek gets up from his chair and walks over to Stiles, pulling him into his embrace. “My offer still stands.”

Stiles shakes his head, holding Derek’s gaze. “No. We’ll do this, together. Besides, I missing out on this adventure through uncharted lands in quest for a centuries’ old treasure is not going to happen.”

Derek rolls his eyes.

“And so, I have a question. Are we sniffing our way towards the treasure or do you have some sort of plan?” Stiles inquires, patting Derek on the chest.

“There’s this old nursery rhyme that’s been in my family for generations.” Derek reveals.

Stiles’ eyes widen in astonishment and then incredulity when he realizes Derek is telling him the truth. “Well, at least I’ll be useful, since my detective skills are galaxies away from yours.”

“Is that so?” Derek asks, leaning closer.

“Yup.” Stiles nods with a cocky smile, closing off the distance between them.

 

| Present Day |

 

“So, where do we begin?” Stiles asks.

“First we need to find a tree.”

Erica snorts, unimpressed. “Take your pick.”

_There’s a three higher than a mountain._

“It’s a tree higher than a mountain.”

“Well, that’s what I call fertilizer.” Erica remarks.

“That’s impossible.” Isaac points out.

“Wait a second. I’m sure that’s not all there is, right?” Boyd asks in a hopeful tone, turning towards him.

“There!” Stiles points out suddenly. “Those hills are full of trees and I bet that from their perspective, those faraway mountains look tiny. Does the rhyme say anything else?”

All eyes turn to Derek.

_There’s a tree higher than a mountain._

_It rests peacefully on a valley._

“The tree is supposed to be on some kind of valley.” Derek tells him.

Stiles nods. “That must refer to a shape made by a rock formation of sorts. I guess we’re up for a hike, then.”

“Holding these backpacks?” Scott complains.

“Big, strong Scott can’t carry such a small lightweight? I’m slightly disappointed. Perhaps it would help if I borrowed you my heels.” Erica cackles, swinging back her hair and strolling forward.

“Hey, humans don’t have as much strength as we do.” Isaac, like a knight in shining armor, follows Erica in defense of his helpless princess.

“They are a little heavy.” Stiles concedes, adjusting the straps of his backpack.

“Actually, they’re not that heavy, Stiles. Maybe you should start to lift some weights.” Scott braves up, following his clique.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Maybe I should, buddy.”

Derek and Stiles meet eyes and Stiles shakes his head, unable to contain a smile. “I guess Boyd and Erica aren’t that easily mesmerized by Scott’s mechanic skills as Isaac seems to be.”

“Your quick thought always mesmerizes me.” Derek tells him, half sarcastically.

“You can praise me all you want, but there won’t be any hot, wild, nature sex while we’re here. Maybe back at ship.” Stiles teases.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to endure.” Derek throws back dryly, approaching Stiles and wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him into a languid kiss, all insistent tongue and biting teeth, groping at Stiles’ cock through the fabric of his breeches until he’s at least half hard.

“Guys, stop face licking and hurry up!” Erica scolds them.

Derek leans back, a cocky smile appearing on his as he smells Stiles’ arousal and looks into his needy eyes. “Come along, Stiles.”

Stiles’ brows furrow. “That’s so not fair.” He mutters.

 

* * *

 

They find the tree two days later and, as it turns out, Peter left behind some cavalry to protect his treasure from the hands of human looters .That they find some resistance actually lightens Derek up, since it probably means they are on the right track. The worrying part, however, is that Isaac, Erica and Boyd almost rip each other throats out in their hurry to sink their sharp claws inside the two rusty robots.

“Not cool.” one of the robots says in a metallic voice.

“Let me show you the power of human love.” Pleads the other as sparks fly from the hole in its middle as he falls to the ground.

And Isaac looks about ready to steal the robots Boyd and Erica are currently gnawing at.

“Enough!” Derek orders and his alpha voice seems to pull them from their trance, their features relaxing, their claws and fangs retreating.

“I’m sorry.” Isaac says, voice low, keeping his eyes fixed on the grassy terrain as he scratches at a wound already healed.

“I don’t know what came over me.” Boyd admits.

“Probably we’re just a little tired from these past few days.” Stiles offers and, probably taken aback by the recent episode, the three betas agree.

Scott, however, regards the trio with careful eyes.

“What’s the next verse?” Stiles asks, forcing an enthusiastic smile, the shadow of the full moon’s presence probably still looming over him.

It looms over Derek, too.

Derek, though, does his best to act confident, like a leader would. His small pack looks at him for guidance and he can’t disappoint them, so he recalls the old family rhyme.

_There’s a tree higher than a mountain._

_It rests peacefully on a valley._

_If you follow the arrow,_

_You’ll get to a stream._

“If you follow the arrow, you’ll get to a stream.” Derek reveals.

“There are no arrows nearby.” Isaac point out.

“Well, that was a waste.” Erica kicks at a rock that flies by Scott’s head.

“Hey, be careful.” He complains, looking to Stiles. “It must be another metaphorical riddle.”

Derek looks past the tree at the mountain far ahead – the curve carved in the rock formation kind of looking like an arrow, pointing downwards.

“I think I know where we need to go.” Derek and Stiles say in unison.

Erica rolls her eyes. “Now they even finish each other sentences – how romantic.”

“Be nice.” Boyd scolds. “As long as they keep it quiet during the night, we have no reason to complain.” And that sounds like a hint.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing them in action.” Isaac wonders.

“And that’s our cue to keep moving.” Scott decides, pushing Isaac down the hill, his previous doubts about the betas forgotten. “I wouldn’t mind taking a look at those robots, though.” He says, casting a mournful look at the destroyed robot parts.

Stiles chuckles and shakes his head. “Poor robots, they didn’t stand a chance.”

Though, when his eyes meet Derek’s, they’re filled with worry, his fears about the moon’s presence clear in those honest, honey brown eyes.

“Promise me that you’ll not lose control like that.” Stiles tells him later that night when they are in the safety of their tent, naked under the fabric of the plastic bag, Stiles’ body splayed along Derek’s with his head resting on Derek’s chest.

“I’ve already promised you that.” Derek points out.

“Promise me again. You’re supposed to be soothing me, not being an antagonizing asshole.” Stiles throws back at him.

Derek rolls his eyes. “Since you’re asking me so nicely, I guess I’ll agree.” And then he turns them around, Stiles landing in the ground with a huff.

“The sleeping bag isn’t made of –”

Derek shuts his upcoming complaint with a kiss on his lips and a tug at his dick. With a groan, Stiles’ brushes his palms through Derek’s stubble and closes his fists around Derek’s slick black hair, pulling Derek closer and straddling both of his legs around Derek’s waist.

When Derek rocks their already hard cocks together, moans sound in the silent night.

“Fuck, Derek.” He curses, panting for air in the suddenly hot and stuffy tent interior.

“I promise you I’ll never lose control like that.” Derek whispers, eyes staring deeply unto Stiles’ own. “And if I even feel myself slipping, losing myself in the pull of the full moon, I’ll just think of you.” He says, placing a soft kiss to Stiles’ forehead. “And now, we’ll better leave things at this or Boyd will come shake the tent.”

“Oh, yes, Boyd.” Stiles says, like he’s only now remembering of the beta, out patrolling in case any other robots decide to wander around. “You’re going to give me blue balls, I swear.”

A cocky smile spreads along Derek’s mouth. “There’s always other ways to pass the time, as long as you’re quiet.”

“I’ll try.” And a mischievous glint shines in Stiles’ eyes.

Derek surrounds both their lengths in his fist, jerking them off and feeling a kick of pleasure every time Stiles forces himself to muffle his moans, nails digging in Derek’s back or fingers pulling at his hair. Derek bites and licks at Stiles’ lips – those obscene lips that can jump from fact to fact, from conclusion to conclusion as easily as they can wrap around Derek’s cock and blow him into oblivion – drinking in the moans he can’t contain.

When the smell of cum and arousal burn as hotly in his nose as his skin below each of Stiles’ touches, he clashes their lips together as they drink in each other moan’s.

“I hope we find that river soon.” Stiles tells him later, when his head is back resting on Derek’s chest and their minds are no longer clouded in a post orgasmic haze and they’ve finally found some sort of semi comfortable position in the sleeping bag, given both their and the bag’s very sticky conditions. “Because as much as I enjoy when you jerk me off, such an activity being even hotter in a covert mission like way, dry cum feels like shit.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I hope we find it soon too.” He agrees, giving a final kiss to Stiles’ forehead and resting a hand on Stiles’ ass before drifting off to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Stiles takes off his shoes and stockings, rolling up his breeches and entering the ice cold water, the nightlight casting a faint glow across the quiet waters. He dips the sticky sleeping bag in the river’s crystal clear stream, washing the remains of his and Derek’s last night jerking off session.

“Oh, interesting. These robots are actually powered by solar batteries, connected to these tiny solar panels in their eyes. It’s quite ingenious. Earth’s buildings used to employ these as well, before our atmosphere got polluted by all that smoke.” Scott tells him, sitting crosslegged on top a stone by the shore and playing with a lone robot they found wandering around; Derek had hold it up while Scott looked for something akin to a turn off button.

Its frantic movements made it hard for Derek to keep it still, which was kind of ridiculous.

“A+, Scotty. And yeah, it’s quite ingenious. Peter got himself a very lasting set of troops. Though, such an ingenious plan comes as no surprise, since crazy masterminds always have the brightest ideas. I wonder if they auto-repair.”

“That’s a really brilliant idea, Stiles.” Scott declares.

“Watch it.” Stiles advises, rubbing the bag’s interior with a brush.

Scott chuckles. “Now seriously – it’s actually quite possible that they have a supply of spare parts in some warehouse. Their programming must be in this chip inside. Now, if only I had a way to peek in.”

Stiles whistles. “I’m really curious about what kind of whacky programming Derek’s uncle put in there. You know, besides the ridiculous dialogue.”

“ _Peter’s always been the alpha_ was a little over the top.” Scott admits.

“Tell me about it.” Stiles nods and rolls his eyes. “I guess theatricality runs in the family.”

And then a growl comes from between the trees.

“Is that you, Derek?” Stiles asks, peering through the dark, dense vegetation. “You don’t have to bite me, it was only a joke. Though, you can rest assured, I’ll let you bite me, among _other_ things, later tonight.” He declares, wiggling his eyebrows.

His smile suddenly fades, the hair in Stiles’ arms and neck bristling as four sets of eyes, one a shining blood red and the others sparkling with an amber like glow, appear from behind the tree’s leafage.

 _No!_ Stiles almost cries.

“Scott, get away from that!” He manages to shout, hurrying towards a shocked Scott as the sleeping bag is left forgotten in the river’s quiet flow.

_Fuck!_

| Flashback |

 

Stiles buttons a red tunic, the color of the fabric clashing with the flashy purple of his breeches.

“So, you’ve decided for a motley themed attire yet again.” Derek notes, coming to stand behind him and placing his hands on Stiles’ wait.

“You’re one to talk about sticking to a theme, running with it and building a shrine dedicated to it next to a mausoleum you previously built in the theme's honor.” Stiles points out jokingly, teasingly pressing his ass back against Derek’s crotch.

“I guess you’re right.” Derek agrees, sneaking his palm under Stiles’ breeches.

“Besides, I’ve chosen cheaper fabrics, since I guess floral life won’t care much about our power or ruthlessness. Clearly, you don’t share of my undisputable opinion.” Stiles notes.

Derek tilts his head. “A captain always has to dress both richly and provocatively. We never know who might come along unexpectedly to shiver at my might. Though, good job on the pirate trivia. You’ve been a very good boy indeed.” Derek congratulates him with a tug at his cock that quickly turns into a squeeze that pulls a moan out of Stile’s throat. “Though, something certainly has to be done about your feisty attitude.” He decides, biting at Stiles’ earlobe, the light sting sending a charged spark throughout his body that has his dick throbbing already and the balance of his legs wavering, kind of like goo.

“The others are waiting for us.” Stiles whispers faintly, tone unsure as his cheek meet the cold surface of the mirror, because the last thing he wants is to give up on this perfect opportunity for a round of steamy sex.

Thinking about it, he’s always ready for a good round of steamy sex with his surly Captain.

“Then don’t tease me.” Derek warns, a cocky hint to his tone, like he knows how much Stiles wants this right now and is relishing in it, stepping back.

Stiles’ hands grip the frame of the mirror for support, suddenly off balance. “You’re such an asshole.” He calls out, in no uncertain terms.

“This asshole comes bearing gifts.” Derek announces, taking a belt from one of the shelves of a cabinet and dropping it in Stiles’ hands. “There.”

“What’s the point of carrying a belt if not to hold my pants up?” Stiles questions. "Wait a minute. Are you trying to torture me by carrying this heavy monstrosity? Because I thought both of us had settled that sexy punishments are the only punishments I need.”

Derek arches an unimpressed eyebrow. “I don’t really need an excuse for a sexy punishment, given how to you they’re no punishment at all. The belt comes with an embedded weapon holster and some wider loops that can be used to store vials of whatever you’d like.” Derek points out, presenting him with a gun.

“You’re giving me a gun?” Stiles asks intelligently.

“Yeah, I am, unless you’d otherwise prefer stealing one from my weaponry supplies.” Derek offers.

Stiles ignores his remark and looks at Derek. “You promised nothing would go wrong.”

Derek sighs. “I know. Just see this as a preemptive measure. And even if nothing goes wrong, who’s to say there aren’t any surprises waiting for us in the planet’s surface? There can be wild animals or wandering Argents. I’m not letting you go out there unprotected.”

“Cut the bullshit, Derek. I’m not taking that gun.”

“Stiles –”

“If nothing wrong is going to happen, I won’t need any fucking preemptive measures!” Stiles argues, perhaps a little too loudly but fuck him if he cares.

Derek’s expression hardens. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I phrase that as a question? I meant to say: wheter you take this weapon with you or you’re not leaving this ship.”

“Hey!” Stiles objects, arms waving around. “That’s not fair!”

“We both know far too well life isn’t fair, Stiles.” Derek says, forcing Stiles’ fingers to wrap around the gun and leveling it with his own forehead, which, wow, is a vision he hopes never to repeat again. “If you see me coming towards you in any way that seems menacing, you shoot me right here. It won’t kill me, just leave me unconscious for a bit.”

“Derek. No!” Stiles cries, trying to yank his arm from Derek’s tight grip.

“Promise me, Stiles.” Derek insists with this resolute expression in his features Stiles has never before seen.

It kind of scares him a little, mostly because it only makes all the things that could go wrong in Luna, under the influence of the full moon, that much more real.

“Fine, I promise.” Stiles gives in.

“Stiles, I can smell you, you’re just going along with this. I need you to really promise me or you’re staying back.”

Stiles sighs, looking Derek into his eyes, seeing the love and the worry Derek feels for him there: “I promise.” He whispers.

After some seconds of inspection, Derek’s furrowed brows relax a little and he lets go of Stiles’ arm, satisfied with whatever he sees or smells in him.

Stiles gulps, feeling unsure about if he’s truly comfortable with what he has just agreed to.

 

| Present Day |

 

Stiles reaches towards the weapon tucked away in his waist holster and, pointing it at Derek – at those sharp cheekbones, angular jaw line and yummy stubble – he knows he’ll not be able to do it. Back at Derek’s quarters, it had been relatively easy promising to something that seemed ages away. Now, in the heart pounding reality of this gut wrenching moment, faced with the face he’s grown to love, his fingers only tremble uselessly against the trigger.

That’s not to say he’s defenseless.

Oh, no!

Just because he can’t watch Derek fall unconsciously to the ground doesn’t mean he can’t shoot him anywhere else.

And yanking Scott to motion, that’s exactly what he does – he aims at Derek’s arm and shoots.

The deafening screech of the gunshot seems to take the betas by surprise, giving Stiles and Scott enough time to get some distance from the wild werewolves.

They run deeper into the wilderness and Stiles feels grass leaves break under his bare feet, tree branches sinking in his sole and drawing out blood and he just shoves the pain away.

“What the hell was that?” Scott asks, his question seeming like a murmur amongst the whistling still shrieking in Stiles’ ears.

“It’s a full moon.” Stiles offers. “They’re werewolves.”

Scott seems to accept Stiles’ answer pretty well, nodding curtly. “You should’ve told us.” He says, disapprovingly.

Well, too late for that now.

The sounds of growling chasing them through the woods has Stiles reaching for his belt again and picking one of the vials he stored, quickly opening the small glass case and, remembering Derek’s words – _mountain ash can protect you from any supernatural creature, if you believe –_ he throws its contents into the air, yanking Scott to a standstill, which has his best friend falling intoto the ground.

_Who needs to lift some weights now, buddy?_

“What?” Scott asks, looking at him with wide, scared eyes.

“This barrier will protect us.” Stiles tells him.

“Are you sure?” Scott asks, regarding the dark ash with suspicion.

“It better work, since we can’t really outrun our werewolf friends.” Stiles offers simply.

And it works, because when Isaac jumps towards them, he clashes into an invisible barrier and is thrown back, sort of like a whip, left knocked out for the time being.

Stiles: one.

Werewolves: zero.

Of course, that’s when the robots decide to show up.

“Fuck, I’m going to need a gun with more bullets.”

And then, Derek appears out of nowhere, standing protectively between the ash circle, his remaining betas and the approaching, murderous, robots.

“You snapped out of it.” Stiles realizes, relief coating his every word.

Derek takes a peek back. “I guess I only needed to remember how much of a pain you are. You should’ve kept your promise, either way.”

“Well, see that as payback for you breaking yours and for whenever you make me suffer through unbearable sexual frustration.” Stiles winks.

“It was risky.”

“Well, it would be more risky to face down all these robots without you.”

“There are too many, we don’t stand a chance.

“You’re always so positive."

“Stop flirting!” Scott scolds, looking at them like they don’t see the gravity of the situation. Stiles sees plenty, he just doesn’t let it mess up with his hilarious wit.

But yeah, they’re probably going to die.

And then a couple of darts leave Erica and Boyd lying unconsciously on the ground.

They might actually have a chance at coming out of this alive now and they have mysterious dart people to thank to.

With newly found energy, Stiles promptly aims and fires at the robots closer to him and Derek does the same, sinking his long claws in rusted metal bodies and ripping cables out with his sharp teeth while arrows shrilling through the air hit another few with equal efficiency.

When the robopocalypse is taken care of, Stiles is left wheezing with fatigue.

Derek, however, remains in a protective stance as two figures emerge from between the trees – a male Czar and a younger female one.

Derek growls menacingly.

“Save your growls, Lycan.” The male Czar says and Stiles faintly recognizes him from a poster back in Kerwan announcing the coming elections for president of the Argent force. This is Chris Argent. “We’re on the same side, unfortunately.”


	14. Chapter 14

After deciding these particular Argents aren’t an immediate threat, Derek props both Boyd and Erica on his shoulders, Scott carrying Isaac in his arms, and they all head over in quest of a safe camping ground for the night.

Keeping the beast in control proves to be a challenge, the wolf incessantly trying to claw his way out.

Derek keeps a steady grip on Stiles’ hand and listens to the soothing thud of his heart, bubbly and excited and so like Stiles as he curiously asks some perhaps too private questions about Czar Biology.

When they find a relatively safe clearing, they set up camp and light a small fire, mainly for both humans’ sake, bones shivering and teeth rattling with the crisp night air.

“There are still some men loyal to me among Kate’s guard and I’ve told me to keep me posted about her movements. A couple of days ago, I received notice about a miraculous break Kate has been incessantly bragging about; how she’s finally finishing the job she started all those years ago and straighten Argent’s accounts all in one go. Me and my daughter have been tailing the Argent fleet ever since and, well, here we are.” Argent says as they sit around the camp fire.

“I still can’t believe Aunt Kate would be able of something like this.” Allison, his daughter, mournfully adds.

“Yet, she did.” Derek says. “She, in her father’s old tradition, makes deals with pirates and mercenaries for personal gain and then disposes of them when they become too big of an inconvenience.”

“They’re bad people.” Allison accuses.

“They still don’t deserve such a fate, and neither did my family.” Derek argues. “Everyone we’ve ever killed, we’ve killed in legitimate defense.”

“Your reputation says otherwise.” Argent points out.

“Reputations can be deceiving.” Derek offers with a fake grin.

Argent coughs. “Regardless of her past actions, my sister is still part of my family and I won’t let her die.” He firmly states. “She’ll pay for her sins, yes. But not with her life.”

“If it ever comes to the life of my pack or hers, I’ll gladly throw hers aside.”

“Then I guess that’s a situation we’ll have to avoid.”

A tense silence sets in, thick air hovering heavily above the small group.

“You tracked her here, right?” Stiles asks, seeing the sudden silence as an opportunity to sooth his curiosity.

“Yeah, we did.” Argent nods affirmatively.

“Then why isn’t she in custody yet?” He asks. “It would be a huge problem out of both our backs; humongous actually.”

“It would.” Argent agrees. “Unfortunately, all we have against her are mild conjectures and wild accusations. The only way we’ll have solid evidence is when we’re able to look around Argent Enterprise.”

“I think you mean snoop.” Stiles corrects.

Argent ignores him. “Besides, we don’t really know where in the island she is. We must’ve gone too close and she or one of her men spotted us. A missile hit our wings and our small nave unit crashed.” He reveals.

“It seems she’s not as concerned with your lives as you are with hers.” Derek states.

Both Argents fix him with a pair of dirty looks.

“Scott is great with machinery.” Stiles says cheerfully. “I’ll bet he’ll be able to fix your ship in no time. Right, buddy?”

“Y-Yeah, I guess.” Scott stutters.

When Derek looks at the duo of friends sitting beside him, Stiles is looking between Scott and Allison with a curious look while Scott is scratching the back of his neck and has his gaze fixed on the dirty ground, the flickering fire warming his rosy cheeks.

“You’d need fresh parts, since some of ours are damaged beyond repair.” Argent points out.

“In a show of good faith, I could let you use some ship parts I have lying around the deck.” Derek offers.

“That would be helpful.” Argent nods, turning to his daughter. “You remember which parts we need and where the ship crashed?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Allison answers with a curt nod.

“Then it’s settled, my daughter will go with your beta.” Argent decides.

“Oh, I’m not a werewolf.” Scott stutters.

“He’s not in my pack.” Derek adds, at the same time.

“Scott isn’t a werewolf.” Stiles laughs, like the whole idea of Scott being something akin to dangerous or menacing is completely ridiculous.

Argent and his daughter share a look.

“I can handle a couple of robots on my own.” Allison tells him.

Argent then tilts his head for her to go, even if doubts and nervous anxiety crease at his forehead and the pungent stench of fear makes even the hair of Derek’s arms shiver.

Scott stumbles over his feet as he joins Allison and Derek wonders why he’s behaving so awkwardly. Allison, at least, seems to find it endearing, if the smile tugging at her lips when she turns the flashlight on, more for Scott’s benefit, Derek supposes, since Czars have great night vision, is of any indication.

Stiles shakes his head with a chuckle.

Argent pinches the bridge of his nose and the Derek the smell of regret lingers in the air.

Derek trades a questioning look with Stiles.

“I’ll tell you later.” He says with a cocky turn to his lip that makes Derek want to drag him towards the woods, since they don’t really have a tent anymore, and make him spill all he knows right the instant.

“Is your ancestor’s treasure as mythically big as it’s told?” Argent asks. “The state Argent Force’s are in isn’t one solved with a couple of gold coins.”

“I thought taking bribes was all the money you needed.” Derek says.

Argent’s features harden. “To sooth claims of corruption, Kate will have to refrain from taking bribes for a while.”

Stiles snorts. “If you ask me, the treasure isn’t even real.”

“Why so?” Argent inquires.

“If those robot’s catchphrases are any indication of the dude’s sense of humor, I wouldn’t be too surprised if the treasure ended up being the knowledge we gained along the way or some crap like that. You know, just to mess with our heads.”

Derek kind of agrees.

His ancestor could’ve been a bit more subtle in his ways, though by all accounts he was a bit insane in the end.

“Well, I guess that’s a question for another time.” Argent decides. “We’ll continue our journey in the morning.” He informs, retiring himself from perhaps too warm fire, given how he wears a layer of natural fur beneath his enterprise attire.

“I never thought Scott was into bestiality.” Stiles murmurs once Argent creeps through the opening of his tent.

“What do you mean?” Derek asks with a lifting eyebrow.

Stiles shakes his head. “If sexual arousal isn’t involved, you’re as oblivious to attraction as you are to other social cues.” He chuckles, scooping a little closer to Derek, the flickering of the flames casting a ghostly glow upon his features and gifting his amber eyes with an almost supernatural sparkle.

“I seem to manage just fine.” Derek says, surrounding Stiles’ shoulders with an arm as he rests his head against Derek’s chest.

“I guess you do.” Stiles whispers, drawing soothing circles in Derek’s exposed chest, above the undone buttons of his puff sleeved shirt.  

They fall asleep in each other’s embrace as the flames dwindle and the rattling wood turns into ash, the quiet sound of Stiles’ breathe brushing through Derek’s chest and the peaceful thump of his heart lulling the wolf to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Derek wakes up to shouts.

“You, you knew about this!” Erica accuses, pointing a finger in Derek’s general direction. It comes as little console that Boyd and Isaac are too preoccupied nursing their heavy heads instead of screaming at him. “You knew the full moon was going to affect us and you didn’t bother telling us!”

All eyes turn on him, even Argent’s, head peeking out of his tent upon the recent commotion, and Derek feels like he’s the target of a fleet of battle ships.

He’s acquainted with the feeling from when a fleet targeted the Mighty Wolf once, canons targeting the vessel and missing the ship by dangerous inches.

It was a really close call.

“Yes, I knew.” Derek concedes, rubbing off his eyes and deciding to face Erica’s wrath head on.

Erica, though, doesn’t shout or scream. No. She simply grunts, like a frustrated parent upon his child’s tantrums.

Stiles pats at Derek’s chest and he can almost hear him say ‘buckle up buddy, you brought this upon yourself’.

“Is there any danger of it happening again?” She asks.

Derek tries to recall Stiles’ narration of the hideous book, as well as his own torturous readings of the damn thing. “We may still experience some moodiness, though the phase of murderous instinct has blown by.”

“Okay. Good news, at last.” She says, sarcastic. “Now, let’s set a couple of ground rules. There’s going to be no more big bad Captain Alpha from here on forth. We are not just members of your pirate crew, Derek, we are pack. We are _your_ pack. It’s time you start trusting us.”

Derek nods awkwardly, Stiles’ body still splayed over his.

And the bastard is s _miling_.

“I’m glad that’s settled.” Erica says, voice cold, storming off until a new thought stills her march, turning to Derek with narrowed eyes. “Why are we going to such lengths for this treasure, Derek?”

Derek sighs, deciding the time for half truths is over. “We need the treasure for two reasons. Firstly, we’re essentially broke. Secondly, the Argents are demanding half of the fortune in exchange for our lives. Oh, they’re also planning to kill us before we leave Mother’s surface, allowing them to keep the entirety of the treasure for themselves.”

“And what’s that thing?” Erica points at Argent.

“He’s one of the aforementioned Argents.” Derek offers. “He’s on our side, though.”

“Okay.” Erica says like nothing is really okay. “Now we’re talking. Was it that hard? We’re now also on not speaking terms.” Erica then grabs Boyd and Isaac by the sleeves of their tunics. “All of us!” She states, storming off.

“That’s A+ for honesty.” Stiles congratulates, sitting up. “…F on timing, though.”

Derek pretends to bite off the finger Stiles is tauntingly dancing around his face. He throws Derek a dirty look and Derek shows off his sharp fangs through a wide grin.

“Wow.” Stiles murmurs, voice filled with wonder, a slight hint of fear almost indistinguishable among the seeping arousal. “You should not be allowed to do that.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Your fascination for all things dangerous is going to get you in trouble someday.” Derek warns, standing up as he notices Argent gathering his things.

“It already has, though it landed me your hot piece of ass, so it was worth it, I guess.” And he gets up as well.

Derek’s eyebrows quirks up. “Are you implying only my ass is hot?”

“I’m implying you’re an ass, also hot.”

 “Unfortunately for me, you’re just an ass.”

Stiles steps on one of Derek’s feet with probably as much strength as he can muster, given his forceful grimace, though Derek only feels a slight tingle.

He lifts an unimpressed brow for good measure.

“Jerk.” Stiles accuses, before capturing Derek’s lips in a chastising kiss and striding away.

They leave camp quickly after, Argent telling them Allison will follow their tracks once the ship is fixed. For all of his worries about his daughter, he seems to have complete confidence in her skills, which eases Stiles’ own worries about Scott alone in the forest.

At least he stops looking over his back and nervously tapping his fingers along his leg.

Seriously, even Derek was starting to get anxious.

 

* * *

 

Derek hears the thundering of falling water before any of the others, his pace quickening as the last verses of the rhyme passed through generations of Hales echoes in his mind.

_There’s a tree higher than a mountain._

_It rests peacefully on a valley._

_If you follow the arrow,_

_You’ll get to a stream._

_Your journey’s desire will soon be near._

_Behind the curtains your prize awaits,_

_Though be careful with your quickening pace._

_One wrong move will prompt the closing of the gates._

 

“The treasure is behind that waterfall.” Derek says once the cascade comes into view, falling droplets of water sparkling in the daylight’s sun.

“ _Manipulate. Manipulate. Manipulate._ ” It suddenly echoes around them, a swarm of the increasingly irritating robots coming forth from between the trees.

“Fuck.” Stiles mutters, loading his gun. “These guys are starting to annoy me.”

“Yeah, they manage to be more innerving than you do.” Derek counters.

Stiles smirks. “And they somehow manage to be much funnier than you.”

“This is not the time or the place for your foreplay.” Erica scolds them, nails elongating into sharp claws.

“ _He says your boobs are too small.”_ One of the robots slanders, approaching Erica.

Erica sinks her claws in its body, sparks flying everywhere. “And you’re too skinny, bitch.” She states, yanking the robot aside and inspecting her hands carefully. “And I didn’t even break a nail.”

“ _They think you’re too furry.”_

_“She calls you fat behind your back.”_

_“Your pirate attire is ridiculous.”_

Then suddenly, Argent is taking three round devices from his belt and throwing them each at a different side. The spheres whistle through the air, making a sharp screech. “Cover your heads!” Argent warns as the metallic orbs explode in a blazing blast of heat, Derek’s ears buzzing from the deafening sound and black spots sprouting in his vision from the intensity of the bright flash.

It also sends bits of robot parts flying off everywhere.

“Wow, dude!” Stiles says, amazed.

“Don’t call me dude.” Argent tells him, stalking towards the waterfall.

“I could do that.” Derek mutters. And he could, actually. Derek would even use his claws and fangs, which would be much more impressing.

“I still love you, duffus, there’s no need to be jealous.” Stiles says, patting his shoulder.

“You love me?” Derek asks, arching a brow.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Ah ah, laugh of the one brave enough to say it.”

Derek grabs onto Stiles’ arm, making the other man face him. “I’m not making fun of you.” He says intently.

Stiles averts Derek’s gaze. “I’m sorry if me saying it out loud weirds you out. I just thought that, since it’s pretty much an unspoken thing between us at this point, that it really wouldn’t be such a big deal.” Stiles says, shrugging.

Derek shakes his head. “I just never thought this would –”

“What are you waiting for?” Argent asks, interrupting him. “Hurry up, I’ve found a way around the lake that will let us get behind the waterfall and see if there really is a cavern behind it.”

“There will be.” Derek states, turning to Stiles. “And we’ll be continuing this conversation back at the ship.”

Stiles nods and they all follow Chris Argent towards a narrow path outlining the lake and surely, it takes them behind the curtain of water, the bubbling sound of the falling stream echoing in his ears and dampening the jangling wilderness, dampening the sound of small animals rustling through the leaves or the melodic chirping of buzzing birds, sounds that have become so common during these past few days, he only really notices them when they’re gone.

“What were you saying about there not being any cavern?” Derek asks Argent, a smirk playing on his lips as the narrow path opens up in a cave, hidden behind the crystal clear curtain of the waterfall.

“Excuse me if I don’t believe in lullabies.” Argent counters.

“Captain, I’m sorry to tell you I don’t see any treasure.” Boyd says.

“So I broke my heel for a wild goose chase.” Erica complains.

“If at least there was a goose, we could eat it.” Isaac mourns.

“Knowledge is the only treasure we need.” Stiles says, smothering a laugh and nudging his hip against Derek’s.

Derek huffs. “At least explore the cave first before declaring defeat. There, I’ll check that bend up ahead.”

His pack and Argent start looking around and Stiles joins him as Derek walks towards the bend, linking their hands together and squeezing soflty.

“Thanks for believing in me.” Derek says.

 “Oh, I’m not sure I do. I just think you shouldn’t do this alone, is all.” Stiles admits. “You should have someone by your side to hug you in case there isn’t any treasure, as well as someone to call you an idiot later on.”

“Gee, thanks.” Derek rolls his eyes sarcastically, squeezing Stiles’ hand anyway.

And after the bend, he finds a pile of golden coins and jewelry, of cutlery and plates, the treasure casting a yellow glow across the rocky walls of the cavern. Upon such an unlikely sight, of an immensurable wealth he was starting to believe didn’t even existed, Derek feels his stomach bubbling with warmth that spreads through his limbs and breaks his thin set of tight lips into a grin that has his cheeks aching.

“Fuck, that’s a lot of gold.” Stiles breathes out.

“Yeah, it is.” Derek agrees, turning to Stiles to find the most beautiful of smiles on his perfect face. Though, Stiles’ eyes are no longer on the treasure, but on Derek, his eyes shining in the dim lighted cave, a molten gold brighter than all the gold in the universe and Derek can’t resist sliding his fingers through the soft, pale skin of Stiles’ jaw, caressing the mole that peacefully rests in the edges of his lips and bringing him closer.

Their lips brush together, Derek’s tongue meeting Stiles’ chapped lips and he feels like the happiest person in the world.

“Step away from the gold, lover boys!” Kate’s voice sounds in the cavern, her voice echoing like a bad omen and, instantly, the warmth shatters inside of Derek.

He unlocks his lips from Stiles’, turning to the woman he once loved and now hates and steps between Stiles and the gun.

Looking towards his left side, he sees more Czars pointing electric weapons at his betas and shotguns at Chris Argent, his arsenal lying uselessly on the rocky terrain.

“How long have you been following us?” Derek asks.

 “I wasn’t following you. I merely found the signal of my dear brother’s ship and followed his tracks.” A playful smirk blossoms on Kate’s lips. “And they led me to you.”

“How in the hell did you manage to stay undetected?” Stiles asks.

Kate rests her eyes on Stiles and then slides them to Derek. “C’mon Derek, the human said speak.” She prompts, her laughter bristling the hair at the back of his neck.

“If you disguise yourself well enough with the environment, Lycans can’t scent you.”

“That’s right. I would applaud, but –” She lifts her gun apologetically. “And thank you so much from bringing me towards the treasure. I would have never been able to get here without your help, and without yours either, dear brother.”

“Kate, you can still turn back.” Argent pleads.

“Why would I ever want to turn my back on greatness, Chris? With all this gold and with the death of the Puny Wolf crew, nothing will stand in the way of the Argent Force. It’s a shame you and your daughter won’t be there to see it.” Kate says with a pout, the acidic scent of bullshit coating the word ‘shame’.

Then, a whistling arrow swings through the curtain of water and explodes in a blinding flash of white light upon reaching the ground.

Kate instinctively shoots off her weapon, like a cornered animal, and Derek shoves Stiles against the rocky walls of the cavern, shielding him with his own body.

“What is –” Stiles begins to ask.

“Be quiet.” Derek tells him, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or they’ll hear us.”

The blunt sound of hitting fills the air and when dark spots stop overrunning Derek’s visions, Kate and her men are lying unconscious on the middle of the ground, Peter’s robots standing still beside them.

“What the fuck?” Stiles asks, incredulity seeping into his tone.

And, like an answer to his question, Scott and Allison walk into the cave.

“It worked!” Scott shouts, unable to control his excitement. “Oh man, Stiles, you won’t believe it. Their space ship is so awesome and they had this thing that reads chips and I fucked around a bit with the robots programming and, oh, and Allison shot an arrow and it was awesome!”

“Glad you had fun, buddy.” Stiles chuckles and rests his head on Derek’s shoulder, letting out a sigh of relief.

“You brought the ship?” Derek asks, petting the back of Stiles’ head as the feeling that everything’s right in the world settles deep into his bones with each breathe that ghosts against his neck, warm and familiar.

“Of course we did. We wouldn’t have been able to get here so fast without it.” Scott reveals. Why?” He asks, letting Allison and Chris to their hugs and muffled words.

“We will need some help carrying the treasure back to the ship.” Derek says.

“Shit, really?” Scott asks.

“Did no one believe me?” Derek asks, voice not really annoyed as Stiles’ heartbeat buzzes soothingly next to Derek’s own ribcage.

“I’ll always believe from now on.” Stiles admits and there isn’t a trace of falsehood in his tone.


	15. Chapter 15

With his sister at gunpoint, the cold and awesome bastard that is Chris Argent is able to incarcerate the Argent troops still loyal to his daughter and, after a raid of the files kept aboard their ship, he’s able to gather enough evidence proving Kate’s corrupt ways. Luckily, his name isn’t in any of it, so Chris will likely still have a chance at candidacy.

Chris is also so impressed with how fast Scott managed to fix their crashed cruiser and use the robots at his advantage that he offers him a job as an engineer aboard Argent Enterprises. The grin that blossoms in Scott’s face, bright and radiant, is only mirrored by the one on Allison’s lips.

Of course, there is the matter of Scott’s mom.

Stiles can only imagine how worried Melissa must be and how much convincing both Scott and Chris will have to do in order for Scott to ever dream leaving Earth again.

He’s trying not to think about his dad’s wrath either.

A difficult conversation at a time is Stiles’ new motto, starting now, because as soon as Derek closes the door of the captain’s quarters, the victorious chants of his crew muffled by the dark wood, he can tell it is going to be a doozy.

“So, you love me.” Derek says, the words hanging in the space between them, a statement and a question rolled into a package of nope.

“Yes, I do, Derek. I thought this conversation was over.” Stiles awkwardly scratches at the back of his neck and sits on theirbed, taking off his shoes.

“No, we didn’t. Treasure hunting got in the way.”

“Oh, yeah, treasures are such nuisances.”

“What are we going to do, Stiles?” Derek asks, ignoring Stiles’ sassy and ingenious remark, his voice so small in the cabin’s interior, so frail, it is hard to believe this guy is captain of a pirate ship feared in countless ports and forbidden of ever entering in countless others.

Well, probably not if Chris is elected.

It seems Chris is open to a truce if his conditions are met, conditions he’s only comfortable turning public if he wins the candidacy.

“We’ve talked about this.” Stiles tells Derek, forcing his thoughts back to the present conversation, one he wishes they weren’t having.

They could be having sex right now!

Hot, see you later sex.

Stiles takes off his red tunic, hoping that carries his point over to Derek’s hard, stubborn head, in hopes his other head becomes hard and overpowers his very handsome, stubbly one. It’s a bulletproof plan.

Derek groans. “We really haven’t.”

“Just because you thought I wasn’t serious doesn’t mean we haven’t.” Stiles states, smirking as Derek’s eyes follow the purple fabric of Stiles’ breeches as it slides down his legs, Derek’s eyes dark and hungry. Stiles feels hot and dirty beneath such an intense stare.

“What about your father?” Derek asks.

“I’ll have almost a year worth of persuading him. Besides, I’ll worry about my dad.” Stiles says pointedly, removing his stockings, the whip of the fabric against thin air making him realize he is practically stripping for Derek.

The thought makes him blush all over.

Derek’s tongue peeking out to lick across his upper lip, a lip Stiles has kissed and bitten and pulled between his own, only makes everything worse.

“You are young, Stiles. That much time might seem like nothing now, but you will get tired of waiting.” Derek warns, though his body couldn’t care less about the words coming out his of his mouth, apparently wanting Stiles as much as Stiles wants him if the way his feet bring him closer and his fingers push each button of his waistcoat through each loop to reveal just the tiniest bit of yummy skin and shy chest hair, are of any indication

“The entire world is your playground.” Stiles states and stands up, pulling off his boxer briefs. “You’ll soon realize how plain I am.”

“You’re not plain.” Derek argues.

“Then I won’t get tired.” Stiles decides.

Derek groans, like Stiles is the one being stubborn here, his puff sleeved shirt joining his waistcoat on the floor, the outline of his hard dick in the dark breeches screaming ‘ready for action’.

“How about you cut the chit chat and give me something I’ll remember.” Stiles winks and takes a few steps towards Derek, their bodies a mere arm’s length away.

“It’s not that simple.” He says, falling into the temptation of Stiles’ naked body anyway.

Their lips meet without much thought, their mouths locking together like two matching pieces of a puzzle, teeth nipping and tongues brushing together, tangled, almost like they are fighting for dominance, for contact, for just a little bit more.

Derek places his palms on Stiles’ neck, fingertips following the lines of Stiles’ tendons, tracing the bob of Stiles’ Adam’s apple as he swallows and pushing Stiles towards the mattress as Stiles struggles with Derek’s stupid pants.

If Stiles wasn’t leaving soon, he would institute a no clothes rule while on cabin’s grounds.

Although maybe Derek would start wearing more clothes, just to go against the law and taunt Stiles just a little bit more.

All thoughts concerning the best way of ensuring Derek’s nakedness at all times are blown away as the heels of Stiles’ feet knock into the hardwood of the bed, Derek biting a groan out of Stiles’ mouth and he’s unsure if the stars dancing around in his head are from the burn in his feet or from the sting of Derek’s teeth scarping along his lips.

Stile falls unto the bed, bouncing slightly as his ass meets the mattress.

“Fuck, Stiles.” Derek mutters as Stiles sits up to place wet kisses along Derek’s dark trail, carelessly shoving down his leather breeches as Derek’s fingers intertwine with loose strands of Stiles’ hair, longer now than when Stiles first came aboard the ship.

Derek’s cock bumps up and down once Stiles frees it from the constraining fabrics of both the breeches and Derek’s undergarments. Stiles wraps his hand around Derek’s hard cock, pushing down the foreskin and stroking its length sloppily, Derek thrusting into his fist. Stiles’ other hand gathers Derek’s balls into his palm, licking the sensitive skin.

Derek’s breath turns more frantic, his hand on Stiles’ scalp pushing him deeper and his hips thrusting into Stiles’ fist with a renewed sense of urgency, Stiles’ name falling off Derek’s lips like a broken prayer as Stiles closes his mouth around one of Derek’s balls, bobbing and licking around it, Derek’s cock smearing pre-cum all over Stiles’ cheek.

Stiles then drags his tongue across Derek’s dick, pressing small kisses along the way and brushing his tongue along the pulse points of Derek’s veins, his tongue pulling rough groans and throaty moans out of Derek’s mouth.

Stiles swipes his tongue across the slit and closes his eager mouth around the head of Derek’s cock, his hand fisting around the base of Derek’s cock, tongue licking over the border of his foreskin and smearing the head with dribble.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good, Stiles.” Derek praises and Stiles looks up, a smirk blossoming on his lips when he sees just how dark Derek’s pupils are and how flushed his skin is, keeping his hold on Derek’s cock and continuing to bob around the head of his fat cock as he watches the changes in Derek’s features through his lashes.

Derek strokes the curve of his jaw. “So fucking good.” He whispers, pushing Stiles’ deeper, making him take more of his fat cock.

Stiles wraps his hands around Derek’s hipbones for balance as Derek fucks into his mouth, leaving his throat dry and bringing burning tears into his blinking eyes.

Derek lets him go each time Stiles needs to breath, each time his gag reflex makes him cough, but Stiles goes back for more each time and soon after the bitter taste of semen fills his mouth as Derek cums, his hips coming to a standstill with one final jerk as his mouth lets go of a broken little moan.

Stiles swallows it all, his fist forcing every last drop of cum out and licking Derek’s slick cock clean, letting go with a dirty pop only when he knows Derek’s dick is dry, his breath spent.

Derek pulls him up and pushes his tongue into Stiles’ mouth, his lips drawn in a lazy smile as he licks the taste of his own cum clean.

“Get back.” Derek tells him, gently brushing his fingers along Stiles’ jaw, his breath ghosting over Stiles’ swollen lips and the slight sting of his stubble still burning Stiles’ cheeks.

Stiles does as he’s told, watching as Derek takes off his breeches, his knees coming up one at a time as he peels of each leathery leg from where it’s stuck around his ankles.

He stalks on top of the bed, fingertips tip toeing along Stiles’ legs as he burrows himself between Stiles’ thighs.

Stiles wraps his feet around Derek’s waist, swirling his tongue around one of Derek’s nipple and nipping at the hair of his armpit and kissing the impressive muscles of his forearm until Derek is bending down and pushing him unto the bed, bringing their mouths together as he aligns his dick with Stiles’.

They spend a while rocking their cocks together, each brush of skin against skin sending waves of heat all through Stiles’ body, making his muscles spasm and his mouth voice out ridiculously needy noises that Derek just takes into his mouth like they are his.

Stiles traces the ripped muscles of Derek’s back with his blunt nails as pre cum smears between their bellies.

“Derek, _fuck_ , I’m almost cumming.” Stiles warns and Derek just smirks, the ass.

Both luckily, because Stiles really wants to get fucked quicker as possible, and unfortunately, because he kind of needs release _now_ , Derek pulls back, dropping tender kisses along Stiles’ body, like promises carved in his skin, and tracing his fingers along the tendons of Stiles’ neck, along his abdomen and his ribs, along his belly and his happy trail, like he’s memorizing every hint, every line and every texture of Stiles’ body so he can preserve it for later, dedicate poems to it and build statues in Stiles’ honor, like he wants to drag this moment in time and wants it to last forever.

Like he’s taunting Stiles and telling him to be patient.

Finally, his hands grab Stiles’ thighs and he lifts Stiles up, back bent in a awkward position against the mattress, ass popped up.

 Derek’s tongue feels harsher against Stiles’ butthole than it did on his skin as he greedily brushes his tongue around the edges of Stiles’ rim before pushing inside as deep as the length of his wide member allows, the burn of Derek’s stubble scratching against the tender skin of Stiles’ butt cheeks.

“You taste so good, Stiles.” Derek tells him before diving in for more, his wide eyes locked in Stiles’ hole and his voice rash, breathless.

“Fuck, Derek.” Stiles mutters, swiping his palm across his sweaty forehead and not knowing what to do himself anymore.

When Derek is satisfied, he rests Stiles’ back against the silky sheets, bending over Stiles to dip his fingers in oil before pushing one of them inside Stiles, a moan erupting from between his lips at the intrusion.

Derek then adds a second finger, and then a third, hitting all the right spots inside Stiles and composing with his fingers the most loud and pleasurable serenade of them all. It’s almost like he has committed to memory every sound Stiles has ever made at the command of his fingers and is now using all of his knowledge to take Stiles to the precipices of both insanity and bliss.

“Fuck me, Derek, just fuck me.” Stiles pleads, unable to recognize his own voice.

“You have to learn to be patient, Stiles.” Derek tells him, removing all of his three fingers from inside of him, Stiles already missing the sense of fullness inside of him, and tugs at Stiles’ cock teasingly.

Stiles groans, jerking up his hips. “Make me.” He’s able to throw back in a semi irreverent way.

Derek smirks and then, suddenly, Stiles’, world is spinning around him until he lands face first on the mattress with a breathless huff.

He’s about to protest when the sharp sound of a slap making him moan and rut his hard and swollen cock shamelessly against the mattress sounds sharp in the still air, the soft fabric of the sheets too harsh for his sensitive skin, the burn and the warmth coiling in the cheek of his ass sending spasms along his body that have his legs shaking and his fists crumpling the silky sheets and tears burning in his eyes.

Derek grabs and squeezes both of his cheeks in his strong hands, the sharp sting of a second slap making him moan and smear pre cum between his belly and the mattress.

“Maybe I will some other time.” Derek whispers at his ear, the shape of a predatory grin clear against his neck. Derek dips his fingers in the oil recipient once more before he pushes his oil slick cock inside of Stiles hole.

Stiles feels a slight burn as Derek’s cock goes through each ring of muscles, his body getting reacquainted with the fullness Stiles missed so much during those days camping in Luna.

Camping with werewolves totally sucks.

“Fuck, Stiles, you’re so tight.” Derek mutters as he locks both of Stiles’ arms behind his back, one of his hands wrapping around both of Stiles’ wrists, pinning him there and fucking him boneless into the mattress.

It isn’t longer until Stiles cums, messy and blissful and leaving both his mind and his bones feeling like mush, muscles clenching around Derek’s cock.

Derek cums inside of Stiles with a rough groan cum letting go of Stiles’ sore arms, and draping himself on top of him.

“I love you.” Derek tells him.

Stiles smiles, lazy and happy and Derek tips his chin up and they trade a kiss that is more a brushing of their mouths together than anything else.

“I know.” He murmurs. “Now get up and clean us.” Stiles hums as Derek leaves sloppy kisses behind the shell of his ear and above his shoulder blades, his palms caressing Stiles’ sides.

Does goes do just that, patting Stiles’ ass before getting up.

Stiles is going miss Derek, he thinks, as he watches Derek’s body strutting away to get a clean cloth, hips swinging from side to side and ripped muscles flexing and rearranging as he walks.

 

* * *

 

Landing on Earth involves some consultation with the Beacon Hills Harbor and also some not really veiled threats from Derek concerning their peaceful departure.

“We’ll miss you.” The betas tell Scott, hugging him in what Stiles names a puppy pile.

“Thanks for the warm farewell, guys.” Stiles says when he’s left out.

“You were alright too, I guess.” Erica decides.

“It will be a bit quieter without you here, though.” Boyd ponders with a smile.

“And it will also be a lot less smelly.” Isaac chips in.

Stiles flips all of them.

They chuckle and smother him in a four way bear hug all the same.

Derek and Stiles trade a short kiss after that before off they go.

“I wish we had a little bit of more time for goodbyes.” Stiles admits to Scott as they walk down the landing board.

“We were eating at each other’s faces for hours!” Scott says, mouth falling open.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “That’s an overstatement.”

“It’s an understatement.” Scott tells him. “Everyone was politely dragging their eyes from the both of you. Actually, it’s a good thing we’re leaving now or you would drag Derek’s fearsome reputation into the dirt.”

Their discussion is promptly silenced when they see their parents waiting on the docks.

Both Stiles and Scott run towards their corresponding family member. Stiles’ dad welcomes him with tears in his eyes and a tight hug, arms wrapping around Stiles’ back. A peek over his dad’s shoulder, amidst the tears blurring his own eyes, Stiles can see Scott is having a similar welcome.

“If you ever sneak out of the house like that again, I’ll kill you myself.” His dad threatens.

Oh, boy.

Stiles waits until the nights where his dad checks in if he’s still in his bedroom sleeping or calls him in a frantic, desperate tone in his voice when he doesn’t find Stiles where he expects him to be are taken by the wind to tell him of his wishes.

Needless to say, it doesn’t go over very well.

His dad eventually accepts Stiles’ decision, makes him promise to check back daily. His change of mind probably also has something to do with the news that Argent Force’s new president is striking a deal with the last of the Hale’s Pirates.

They become Argent Force’s strike team, sailing the seas arresting pirates and robbers, as ironically as it may sound. Some of the Mighty Wolf crew doesn’t seem to take to the new management that well though, and leave the ship to sail the space on their own.

Derek, Stiles thinks, must appreciate the sense of calmness he has now.

Chris Argent comes by a couple of weeks after he wins the elections.

Scott is gone soon after that and Stiles gambles it probably took a similar amount of convincing for Melissa to agree to that as it did with his Stiles’ dad. She starts visiting them more then and Stiles sometimes ears her from his room.

“How could I deprive him of a better life?” She asks one day.

The Sheriff offers no answer.

They also laugh a lot and one night, when Stiles goes through the living room towards the kitchen, to pick up some dry, paper like snacks to sooth his stomach, he sees them dancing to the tune of some old song spurting out of the rusted mp5, a blue light seeping out of the broken screen and casting an ethereal glow upon them.

Stiles is happy they’ll have each other for support, at least.

His popularity also seems to go up. Apparently getting kidnapped and participating in a robbery really amps up a dude’s appeal with both the guys and the gals.

Stiles refuses every invite for a date, though.

Instead, he waits for his birthday and remembers his time with Derek, the crease of his eyebrows while he’s hunched in his desk, head deep in paperwork, remembers his genuine smile when they laid together in bed, remembers the touch of his fingers and the sound of his voice and feels an ache in his chest and a smile in his lips and a tear slipping down his cheek at the memories.

At night, Stiles remembers other things about Derek, things that leave him breathless and panting, leaves his skin coated with sweat and makes him cum amongst muffled groans in the moon’s quiet glow.

His birthday finally comes, feeling like the date took too little and too long all at the same time and Stiles and his dad tend to his mom’s garden, and even through the poor thing clearly has been through better days, it still seems like she’s there. They watch Stiles’ favorite movie on the holo screen and tell stories, so many stories.

Stories that have them laughing until their cheeks hurt and crying until they’re balling their eyes out. His dad also uses some money he had saved and buys ingredients for a cake.

They forget about it and almost burn the house down.

Melissa comes by at dinner time and they eat together, shoving an impromptu candle in the middle of the cake. Scott joins in via video call and sings along with the birthday song, telling them about his day as they eat around the burnt parts of the cake while the noise of the HV sounds in the backdrop.

The noise of the ship sailing across earthen skies sounds shortly after.

Stiles hugs Melissa and his dad goodbye, trying not to look at his dad’s teary eyes as he pushes back some tears of his own.

“I’ll see you both in a couple of months!” Stiles says, running away.

Derek is waiting for him when he arrives, back leaning against a flickering light pole wearing the same attire as that first day and Stiles leaps into his arms, their teeth clashing in a slightly painful crash.

Derek grunts and Stiles chuckles and then their mouths in an actual kiss, still full of urgency and longing and, God, Stiles has missed Derek’s mouth and the firm hold of his hand on Stiles’ jaw, the texture of his lips and the woody taste of his tongue, the burn of his stubble against Stiles’ cheek and the scrape of his teeth, pulling teasingly at Stiles’ bottom lip.

“I’ve missed you.” Derek whispers, his breath dissolving in the crisp chill.

“I’ve missed you too.” Stiles says. “And now, before we take this party to our cabin, I’d like to know where we are going”

Derek snorts. “Someday I’ll teach you to be patient.”

“Maybe later, now, though, I have a burning question that needs answering.”

“What you have is an ass that needs smacking.” Derek decides, biting at his pulse point and yanking a startled moan out of him, Stiles’ dick twitching at such a light incentive and a cocky smirk widening Derek’s mouth.

God, it’s been too long.

“I’m taking you to the Plantae System.” Derek then reveals.

Stiles brings Derek’s mouth into a kiss, the grin that flourishes in his lips so wide, it hurts.

**Author's Note:**

> Your Captain hopes you had a good stay aboard the Mighty Wolf.
> 
> You can follow me [here](http://sarcasmandirony.tumblr.com).


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